Echoed Memories
by ForgottenAlias
Summary: What if you awoke to discover your memories, your identity, even your name, had vanished from your mind? This is the case for young Cyrus, a homunculus who awakes with no knowledge of his life before. What will he do when the search for answers leads him into the darkest corners of conspiracy, tragedy, and loss?
1. Chapter 1

Smoke blanketed the night sky over Creta, obscuring what little light was provided by the waning moon. Far from civilization, an ancient stone temple loomed in shadow—a monument of times long gone. Beneath its aging rafters hid a dying tribe, and the treasures they so desperately fought to conceal.

Screaming voices echoed between thunderous gunfire, as numerous military trucks surrounded the temple. Armed men leapt from the vehicles in droves, their faces hidden by bandanas and gas masks. They stormed the perimeter with relentless, brutish force as the out-numbered and out-gunned people within the temple clamored to barricade the large wooden doors.

An olive-skinned girl with honey colored hair ran to the door behind her people, ready to use her alchemy to help reinforce the gate. A blue light penetrated the cracks of the wood before she could reach it. She recognized the light as alchemy, and gasped at the startling realization that one of her enemies possessed the art, as well. She recoiled in horror as the door splintered under the force of a small bomb.

"Miss Lyda, save the stones!" a tribe's woman cried out, just before being silenced to the ground under a rain of enemy ammunition.

Such atrociousness made tears threaten to spill over. Still, the girl heeded the order despite herself. She retreated to the back of the temple, away from the deadly fray.

Booming guns rang off the pillars and walls. She tried to ignore them, as she pushed aside two doors leading into the large inner sanctuary. On an altar, surrounded by flickering candles and incense was a worn box on a stone pedestal. She bolted to it, swiping the box from its place, before running for the door behind the altar. She swung it aside and crashed into the temple's robed priest.

"Not this way Miss, they've come through the back!" the priest warned. Grabbing the girl by the shoulders, he led her down a second hall towards a secret egress. "There's a horse waiting in the stables. We'll distract them long enough for you to escape."

"Where's my brother?" the girl demanded, running alongside of him.

"We've already led Mr. Darbus out. He's waiting at the check point for you and the stones." He hastened to explain.

"Get out the moment you're clear," The girl said. The priest smiled, sadly.

"Halt!" yelled a solider behind them.

The girl and the priest spun to face the approaching enemies. She locked eyes with two light-skinned men—their blonde hair shaven to nearly nothing.

The priest pushed her into a side archway, diverting away from the necessary path, moments before their adversaries unleashed a hail of bullets. She watched him crumple to the ground as she shoved the gate closed behind her.

The new path would not lead to the stables. She would need to flee on foot. Smashing a window and leaping down into the grass, she dashed away from the flaming building. Her feet bound faster than her mind could react, but it was not enough. One of her assailants fired blindly after her into the dark, missing every shot until the gun clicked empty. Growling in frustration, the bulky man leapt down a flight in pursuit.

"Give me the stones!" Hissed the assailant.

Breathless and frantic, the girl ran for her life, clutching the simple box to her chest.

The assailant honed in, revealing tattooed circles on his palms. Activating alchemic power from their reddened centers, he manipulated the dirt path under her feet. It softened to powder before abruptly plummeting into a deep fissure. The girl managed to jump, dodging death by a narrow instant. Still, she felt fret. She knew the act had bought the man enough gain to seize her.

"You… Won't have them!" she yelled in defiance. Turning on her heels, she slapped one hand to the ground.

A brilliant blue light glowed through a subtle crack in the box. Soon, the Earth that surrounded her did the same. A sudden alchemic reaction, which put the assailant's original display to shame, violating the dirt below in shifts.

The girl's pursuer was tossed into the air, surprising a gasp before crashing to the ground. The assailant gripped the pain upon his chest, as he struggled to his feet. Three ribs had broken from the fall, at least. Standing was difficult. He would need them bound immediately. However, the white heat of his wounds paled compared to the anguish of his mind, when he noticed that the girl had vanished. Wild eyes searched the open plane, and he let out a yell of frustration.

"I'll find you! I'll kill you, and every last filthy member of your worthless tribe!"

His promise went unheard. The girl had slipped out of the physical world using the contents of her box. The silence dragged on, and the assailant sneered.

The other solider ran to the man's side, and breathlessly spoke, "where…Did she...?"

"She's gotten away, for now. I assume she has retreated through the Portal... She'll be back. She has nowhere else to go but back here. Order the trucks around. We'll have the rest of the stones soon."

* * *

The girl twisted around the endless glow of white space. She was relieved to see she was still clinging to the box, which she had used to open the Truth—the Portal between worlds. The secret to all alchemy. She traced the edges with a quavering touch.

Her grandfather had told her of this place. Supposedly, it was the gateway to the afterlife, and the source of all alchemical knowledge. It had gone by many ignorant names, though none truly captured the confusion of wonder that surrounded her then, nor did they hint towards the potential for terror that lurked beyond site.

She felt pain, and gripped her side. The power she used in defense, and then to open the Portal, had been too much for her body to handle. If the crisis had not been absolute, she would have never dreamed of unleashing the Stones' raw power… That is, without something to regulate the phenomenal energy flowing through them.

She was lucky the Stones did not kill her, just as they had done to their creators—her very ancestors.

The girl stood on what seemed to be nothing, with one exception. A gigantic pair of stone doors, floating, looms overhead. They were carved with alchemic words and symbols. She had seen the symbols before, mostly in her grandfather's work, but had never seen them arranged in such a strange pattern. Apparently, they were meant to reflect her knowledge of the world and of alchemy… However, that was just a myth.

The Truth—the bedeviling place she found herself as of present time—was supposed to be a myth, as well. Yet, there she stood.

 _"So, you've made it here at last."_

The girl startled when confronted by the unexpected voice. She turned again, coming face-to-face with the crouching figure. Like everything in this place, it was white—only distinguished from its surroundings by a rimming, black aura. The only facial feature it possessed was a large, almost mocking grin, which accompanied its condescending tone.

"I have," the girl frowned at the creature. "Tell me. Can I hide the Philosopher Stones here?"

She was wary to release her grasp on her box. Her family had already lost one of the four stones to their enemies. She could not lose the other three. The only comfort she took was in the knowledge that her pursuers were ignorant to the workings of the stone they possessed. However, who knew how long until they were to figure it out? Her grandfather's Philosopher's Stones were the last hope of saving their tribe. Unease be damned, she loosened her hold in the presence of the doors.

The grinning thing spun and snickered. _"Hmmm, you could, but I cannot guarantee the stones lasting safety."_

"What do you mean?" the girl demanded. "What's safer then within the Truth?"

The thing continued to laugh. _"Tell me this. What is stopping your pursuers from simply opening the Portal and pulling the Stones out? When you leave here, you will be captured. They are bound to figure it out one day."_

The girl broke into a cold sweat. Her eyes shifted across the surface of the doors, as she desperately reviewed her choices. Suddenly, a solution sparked. For the first time that night, she smiled.

The creature knew her mind. It regarded the girl's thought, before even she had time to speak it.

The thing spoke, _"what you have in mind would normally cost you your life. However, you are lucky now. Your possession of these Stones gives you free reign... Well, almost free reign. They still cannot save you."_

She understood the creature's meaning. In order to use the power of the Portal, something great had to be given in exchange.

"But, it can save the Stones," she specified. "That's all that matters."

The figure gave a shrug of indifference. _"Take your preference. The world is at your disposal."_

She had made her choice. She would use the Portal and send the Stones away, far from her homeland and out of the reach of her enemies. The Stones would be safe…at least for now.

The doors opened slowly. The girl stood on the edge, staring down into the black that lurked behind them. Using the Stone's power as a toll, she pulled from the doors what she needed—three vessels to house her perfect Philosopher's Stones.

The vessels were like living dolls, made from alchemy to resemble humans. That is, humans who were far improved. They were called many things. In her homeland they were known as _flask dolls_. In the neighboring country, Amestris, she was thought they were known as _homunculi_.

Her grandfather had concealed the _flask doll_ vessels that could contain the Stones' power within the Portal decades before, and she intended to pull them back out. She paused, as she saw they were not the same ones that her grandfather had made. Perhaps they had changed, or maybe they were different from the ones she knew from her childhood.

In the darkness, they were the only vessels she saw. She had no choice but to use the alchemic creations. They might not have been the same as her grandfather's creations, but they would have to do.

 _"Yes. Take what you want. Pull those who are not involved into the trouble you have made, and make them suffer the consequences of your actions."_

The girl flinched at its words. Clenching her fists, she nodded once. "It…has to be this way," she said, trying to justify it all. "I'm sorry," she whispered, before using the power of the Stones for the last time to open three separate Portals bridging the Truth and her world. She tossed each Stone's vessel into them. When the doors vanished, so did her power to remain in the white place surrounding the Truth. The great doors in front of her opened yet again, but this time a multitude of thin black arms reached out from the darkness. They spun around the girl, who did not fight them. They pulled her back to the real world, back into the arms of her pursuer, who would most likely end her life.

"It's okay," she told herself, as the doors began to close behind her. "Brother, it's up to you now to find them again, but for now the Stones are safe."

 _"For now. We will see how long that lasts."_

The doors slammed, leaving the Truth behind, snickering.


	2. Chapter 2

The fog was thick, and the world spun endlessly. It was searing hot. The tunnel walls were illuminated by evenly spaced lights, which stretched forward without end.

Running. Pain. Begging. The torment of his flesh replacing all thought.

He was chased by the echoing sound of snapping fingers, which promised more pain. His legs failed. His face smacked the dirty floor. His stalker took advantage of his misstep to inflict more agony.

There was a voice in the confusion. It was weak with pain and desperation. It was his.

"Please don't… No don't… No…"

Not only pain, but also humiliation. It did not matter; his want to survive outweighed everything else.

"I don't want to die! No, no!"

"I'm not giving you a choice." Hissed his stalker. It was deep, vengeful, without mercy. "Now burn in Hell!"

His scream rang loud off the tunnel walls, into oblivion. But, slowly it faded, as did the promise of his death, the tunnel, and the pain. The rumble of thunder replaced his voice, accompanying the roar of pounding rain. Water droplets bombarded him. There was only darkness, occasionally illuminated by the flash of lightning.

Where was he? Who was he? Why was he unable to move?

His mind moved like the storm. He could not focus on a single question longer than a few seconds. Still, it persisted.

Where had the tunnel gone? Was the stalker chasing him nearby?

He wanted to get out of the rain, but couldn't summon the energy to do so. He had a hard time staying conscious. He closed his eyes, and the night closed around him.

The sound of voices roused him, but he could not respond. There stood a shadowed figure over him, shining a lantern in his face. He could not comprehend the person or the light, but the flames inside the glass stirred a fear within him. He did not have the energy to run, or even move. Half-conscious and terrified, he was trapped.

He denoted the sensation of a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. Through squinted lashes, he watched as the figure removed a thick jacket and covered him, shielding him from the rain. It was a woman.

"Doctor, I've found a boy here!" she cried out. Her voice was thick with a drawling accent of some kind.

Who was she? He was too weary to ask. Soon, he lost the fight against the encroaching darkness and fell back into unconsciousness.

He awoke again to the pattering of droplets bouncing off the canvas draped over his head. The weight of thick blankets engulfed him up to his chin, and similar bedding pressed against his back. There was an array of smells. Flowery incense was the most overpowering, but subtle hints of earthy perfume seemed to reside right under his nose, most likely from the bedding. It comforted him.

'Open your eyes,' He ordered himself.

His vision was ill defined and dim, but slowly it began to clear. He was lying in a large tent of some kind. He observed that it made a rectangle, and that the two opposite sides were completely different from each other, as if divided by an invisible wall. The side he found himself in was decorated with dry herbs and silk tapestries of varying shades of purple. A cedar trunk full of decorated dresses was propped open next to his small bed. Overhead, there hung bells, coins, feathers, and other metal decorations, which swayed slightly with the tent's movement in the wind.

The far side was a simple green, and the canvas walls were decorated with strange, circular symbols and notes. A second trunk, which was closed and seemingly newer, sat next to a rolled up bed mat. In the middle ground between the two sides was a small table, which was near the floor, lined with pillows, serving as chairs.

Where the hell was he?

The sound of approaching voices caught his attention. He wasn't sure what possessed him to close his eyes and pretend he was asleep, but he did. Perhaps, he was not ready to face anyone. He was still so confused. His very identity eluded him.

"Doctor Trovius, I really hope you know what you're doing if your theory is correct," said a familiar voice. It belonged to the woman, who found him in the rain and covered him with her jacket.

"This has literally been my life for thirty years, Shelta. I _know_ I'm right," responded a man's voice. Unlike the woman, his accent was bare. Each word he spoke was precise and defined. However, his meaning carried excitement. He was almost giddy. "The alchemic tests I've done so far match mine and Rodger's research notes, and I'm sure of it. He's a Homunculus!"

What exactly was a homunculus? With tightening eyes, he wondered… Were they talking about him?

"First thing tomorrow I'm calling Rodger, and…"

"Really Trovius! That's what you are concerned about… bragging to your friend?" said the woman named Shelta. Footfall approached the tent from outside, and he heard the sound of ruffling fabric as others entered the small space. Her voice dropped to a whisper, then. "I'm more concerned about this boy."

"I'm concerned, as well," insisted Trovius, quietly. "But I would like to get all of my facts straight. I have done a thorough examination, and he seems fine, but he certainly is not human. Once he wakes up, I will ask him everything to fill in the blanks. For now, I need to talk to Rodger. He is an expert in this subject, and I need his council."

'Examination?' What the hell did this Dr. Trovius do to him while he slept?

His body tensed. Despite the many questions he had, he felt staying to have them answered was dangerous. The very moment Shelta and the doctor were to leave, he had to get away.

"I just wish I understood," Trovius pondered. "To create a homunculus… Then just dump him in the woods? The boy's creator must have gotten separated from him, somehow."

"There's still much we don't know," Shelta whispered. "Whoever made him must still be nearby."

"They couldn't have gone far in this weather. The moment the rain clears, I'll go out looking for anything else we missed," Trovius promised.

"Dr. Trovius," said a man outside the tent, who had the same accent as Shelta. "We found something strange where we found the boy."

"The boy's creator?" Trovius asked.

"No, it looks like a transmutation circle of some kind," The man answered.

There was a moment's pause, before the sound of shuffling paper broke the silence.

"I'll be back in a moment, Shelta," The doctor promised, as he hurried out of the tent and into the rain.

The minutes ticked on, but Shelta did not leave like the others. She swished about the tent, unaware of his disquiet. He sensed the approach of her solid presence. Soon, she was within arm's reach, searching through the trunk by his bed. His body tensed.

'Come on, just leave,' the nameless boy growled in his mind.

His breathing hitched in his throat when he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder through the blankets.

"Are you okay, dear?" her voice was soft.

He didn't answer. He kept his eyes fastened shut. Then, he heard her snicker.

"You're far too tense to be asleep," she explained further.

Realizing he had been caught, he opened his eyes. He came face-to-face with Shelta, who was smiling down at him. He saw that she was mostly covered by a flowing, purple dress, and peach blouse; garments old, yet beautiful and well cared for. That same description fit her, as well. She had a slightly crooked smile and a long nose, which looked as though it had been broken more than once. Her skin was a dark tan, and wrinkled from the sun. Her raven black hair was streaked with gray and wrapped with a yellow scarf. Her comforting, brown-eyed stare helped the tension in his shoulders to relax.

"My name is Shelta Black. You are among my clan, the Lovel Locke people, and you are safe," she greeted, warmly.

He stared back at her, not knowing exactly what to say. He had no memory of a clan of his own—or, even what a clan was, for that matter. And, he most certainly doubted just how benign her people's intentions were, especially considering her earlier conversation with Trovius. He remained silent.

"What's wrong, dear? Can't you speak?" One of her thick eyebrows raised in confusion. She lifted a hand to move one of the long, dark strands of hair from his eyes. The bangles on her wrists jingled from the motion. He immediately sank away from her touch, and she retracted.

"I can talk," He finally answered, which startled him a bit. It had been the first time he heard his voice outside his own head. It was a neutral tone. A bit more feminine than what he expected of a male, but with a slight rasp to it. Despite her accent, which put him on edge, he liked Shelta's voice better.

"Very good. That makes it easier," she said. Then, came the question he dreaded the most, "What's your name?"

He grimaced a bit while considering, before eventually deciding to settle on answering honestly, "I don't have one."

Feeling vulnerable lying down, he struggled to sit up. Shelta rested a hand on his upper back, as if ready to catch him should he fall back down. He was annoyed by the gesture.

"Do you mean you don't remember? Did you get hurt?" she asked, now sounding very concerned.

"I…don't think so. I…" trying desperately to remember, he gripped his head in one of his hands. That's when he noticed the half gloves he wore, covering pallid skin from his knuckles, and stopping just under his elbows. He moved the blanketing to observe his rather thin body, toned with small but well-defined muscle. He was dressed (if you could call it that) in an all-black, skintight sleeveless half shirt, that formed around his neck. Short pants lined with loose black cloth covered from under his naval to his upper thighs. Half stockings covered bare feet, exposing his toes and heels.

He realized that this was the first he had ever seen himself. He wondered just what the purpose of the mostly exposed wardrobe served. His entire person was an intense contrast to Shelta's leathery caramel skin, and he became self-conscious.

Had he been hurt? Was that why he couldn't remember anything, but-

His head perked, and he turned. Looking passed Shelta, on the table near the entrance to his right, a light-filled glass globe scorched against the canvas wall—a simple lantern, nothing more. As it flickered, he recalled flashing lights surrounding him. And with them, brought agony.

The concentrated glow transported him against his will. He found himself in the tunnel again. He felt the ache of running muscles, and that pain… That endless, skin-searing pain, as though he were being engulfed by the sun.

"Just a lantern," he reminded himself through gritted teeth. Still, adrenaline charted his veins, for every time he blinked, the stalker chased. The stalker wanted him dead, but he could not die. "Just a lantern… Just a lantern."

But, it was not just a lantern on the table; it was a vessel containing evil, which was-

 _"Please don't! I don't want to die!"_

 _"I'm not giving you a choice. Now burn in Hell!"_

Gasping, he backed away from the flame, crashing into the travel trunk next to his bed. He had to get away.

"Honey, what's wrong!?" Shelta asked desperately, holding his shoulders in her hands.

"Fire! I don't want to die! It burns! No more, please!" he shielded his body with his hands.

"You're not going to die! You're safe here!" Shelta insisted.

She tried to get the boy to focus on her, but he continued to call out in fear of fire. Then, it clicked in her mind.

She ran to the table, lifted the glass from the lantern, and blew out the flame. The anxiety was extinguished along with the light, and the tent darkened considerably. Shelta turned back to the shuttering boy, whose eyes were wide and his face aghast. She came to kneel down by his side.

"Dear, tell me what's wrong, and I'll help you," she rubbed his back in gentle, soothing circles.

He slowly glanced up at Shelta. When he reclaimed his place in his mind, humiliation replaced the fear. To have acted in such a way in front of someone… Flustered, he tried to wriggle out of her grasp.

"I'm fine," He snapped, a bit harsher then intended.

"How about you lay back down," She tried to recline him back towards her bed.

"No, I'm fine," He said, not entirely convinced he was.

Shelta continued to offer help; water, food, and even calming talk. He was suspicious of everything she said and did. Why was she being so nice? They didn't even know each other.

He remembered his plan to escape before that Doctor Trovius came back. It occurred to him he had literally no place to go. This woman, Shelta was the only person he had ever seen. It wouldn't exactly be easy to run out into the rain and expect to find something.

If he did have an opportunity to leave, it passed as the tent's fabric door was pushed open and an older man in a raincoat entered quickly. He wasn't dark-skinned like Shelta, but wasn't as pale as himself. His hairline was receding a tad, and he decided the man was about the same age as Shelta, though possibly a bit younger.

The man halted fast in his tracks, when they made eye contact with each other. Something told the nameless boy that this was Doctor Trovius.

In an instant, the man's blank, almost dumbfounded look was replaced with one of smiling wonder.

"Bless my soul, he's awake," he whispered, mostly to himself. He dropped his many books to the ground and stumbled on his knees to the two on the floor. "So nice to meet you, truly! I'm Doctor Trovius Welling, at your service!" He grasped the stunned boy's hand, and shook it over-zealously. Shelta shot the man a look, which he ignored. "Please, dear boy, tell me who I'm speaking to... I want to know everything!"

The boy suppressed the urge to sigh, as well as his regrets of missing the opportunity to run. Doctor Trovius' eccentric nature unnerved him, to the point of speechlessness.

"He doesn't remember his name or anything else besides-" Shelta began, glancing at the darkened lantern on the table, and then back to the boy. When they met eyes, he hung his head in embarrassment. "His time here." She finished, carefully.

"Wait…you don't even remember the alchemist that created you?" Trovius asked, seeming as equally confused as he was curious.

That peaked the boy's interest. "What's an alchemist?"

Doctor Trovius' smile turned inward, his brown eyes focused, as the astute scientist in him prepared to share his precious wisdom.

"Why, it's a scientist that studies the art of alchemy. And, of course, alchemy is the study of deconstructing and reconstructing matter, which is exactly how _you_ came to be." Doctor Trovius became giddy again, "I'll show you this art."

With that, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a piece of chalk. On the paper Trovius drew a strange circle, and then proceeded to break the chalk in two, before placing both pieces in the center of the array. Trovius placed his hands on the pattern, and a lively blue light engulfed the paper and chalk. When the light dimmed, the chalk had been mended. The nameless boy stared at the chalk, eyes wide with amazement.

Doctor Trovius took pride in the boy's wonder, but assumed a humble demeanor and cleared his throat. He continued, "This was an example of reconstructing an item. I had all the pieces, so I could make it whole again. But you, my dear boy, are a Homunculus. An absolute miracle of alchemic science once thought to be impossible."

Doctor Trovius pat the boy's shoulder eagerly, to which he responded with a grimace. The boy—the homunculus—was not so keen on having a stranger touch him as if he were some sort of shiny new toy. But, the stranger's new concept moved his curiosity in a way that he allowed it.

"Homunculus… How do you know I'm one of these things?" the boy asked.

"Well, as I have just demonstrated, I am an alchemist as well, and I have been studying your kind for many, many years. I noticed a few subtle hints. Here, I'll show you!" Trovius said with a smile, jumping up quickly, before going to retrieve his notes. Though, he frowned as he glanced around the tent, and realized how very dim it was. "Just a moment," he stated, before going through his bag and pulling out a box of matches. As he went to strike one to life, Shelta took his hand.

"Trovius!" She gave a brief shake of her head that promised of an explanation later. The Homunculus boy was not sure how to feel towards her compassion. Both gratitude and anger seemed misplaced in the moment.

"…Very well. As it is with alchemy, there are multiple solutions to a problem," He said optimistically, pulling from his bag a small lantern-like device, and clicked it on. It gave off an odd hum before illuminating the tent, somehow without fire. Trovius left it on the table, mumbling an, "ah, the miracle of electricity," Before retrieving a few books, and then returning to the bedside of the Homunculus boy. Upon thumbing through a few pages, Doctor Trovius placed a particularly dense leather-bond tome in the boy's confused hands.

"Here we are, take a look!" Doctor Trovius offered. Though, the doctor did not give the boy a chance to look through the book at his leisure. He made quick to turn to a few choice pages on his behalf. "This was the first and most obvious thing that tipped me off." Trovius snickered and pointed to a strange red symbol. It was some kind of a winged serpent forming a circle, seemingly about to eat its own tail. Within the gap of the circle were a triangular shape and three smaller triangles on the sides.

The boy was about to question Trovius about the emblems meaning, when he realized that the doctor was suddenly in his personal space yet again. His bed covers were thrust back, exposing his legs. The boy fretted, simultaneously covering himself with his hands and scooting away from the strangers' eyes. Doctor Trovius seemed oblivious to the boy's discomfort, and replied simply. "It's quite alright, I'm a Doctor, after all! Well, go on! Have a look!"

The boy gave a sigh that contained equal parts apprehension and annoyance. Finally, he looked down. Low and behold, there was the exact same serpent symbol on the upper part of his outer left thigh. He tried rubbing it off, but found it to be permanently tattooed on his leg.

"It's an ancient alchemic symbol meaning eternity. It's the Ouroboros." Trovius explained, before the boy could ask. "Also the alchemic nodes on your back, which help circulate the energy from your core through your body."

He soon spotted what Trovius meant. A red circle was resting on the surface of his pale shoulder. It was connected by a matching colored line running diagonally towards his spine. He reached his hand to his back, trying to feel what he couldn't see. The texture of the red nodes and lines differed ever so slightly from his skin. Oddly, the lines continued from his bare shoulders, and passed through his tight shirt, as if somehow it were sewn into that, as well. From what he felt, two circular nodes sat behind his upper shoulders, which were connected by a final one resting on his mid spine, forming an upside-down triangle.

"What do you mean 'my core'? What are they circulating energy for?" he asked, while attempting to feel the symbols on his back, trying to figure out how they could be connected to both his skin and his clothes. Trovius nodded before going to retrieve something else from his bag.

"Your regeneration ability," he answered simply. He returned to the bedside with a small, cedar box, which contained a few tools. Trovius pulled out a small scalpel. "Let me see your hand, and I'll show you. Trust me boy, it'll only hurt for a moment."

Of course, the site of the scalpel and the threat of pain made the Homunculus boy flinch away. Though his curiosity got the better of him, and he slowly surrendered his left hand to the Doctor. Trovius carefully opened a small cut on one of his exposed fingers, just above his gloves. It stung a bit, but the ache of the cut was forsaken when bright, red electricity ran over the wound, mending it to nothing within seconds.

Staring at his hand in shock, the confused boy slowly raised his head to meet the very excited eyes of Doctor Trovius. "You are a Homunculus, a perfect artificially created human, but with the many flaws of humanity fixed! However, if you have no memories, then that leads me to believe you are a newborn. And, that would explain the light, of course..." He trailed off, leaving the confusing sentence hanging.

"The light he's referring to is how we found you," Shelta explained. "Last night, there was a bright light from outside the camp, and we followed it to find you."

"It must have been the transmutation which brought you to life!" Trovius exclaimed, going back to his notes for a reference.

Trovius switched back and forth between raving about the wonder of transmutation to studying the boy, who tried to shake the doctor off whenever his clammy hands touched the markings on his back, or the serpent symbol on his leg.

The boy decided he really did not like Doctor Trovius' fascination with him. At least Shelta treated him like a normal person, and not like some lab experiment waiting to be dissected.

"Trovius," Shelta stated, grabbing both their attention. "If someone has just made him, then where are they now?"

"That is a good question. We could not find anyone else around the circle. To create something such as a Homunculus, something great would have to be given in return…" He paused when he saw the boys' confused face. "Equivalent exchange," he added, as if that was supposed to explain everything. "There is a chance… All of their being could have been taken." There was a hint of remorse in his tone.

What did that mean? Was the person who made him dead? Should he feel sad for the loss of a life he had never known?

"Clever enough to make a Homunculus, but not clever enough to know the simple laws of equivalent exchange?" Shelta wondered. "Isn't that Lesson One in any and all alchemy?"

"Very true. That's why it makes no sense, you see. There is still much to learn. But first, our dear friend is new to this world, so he shall need a name, and until such a time when an alchemist comes to claim him, I think we should give him one," Trovius said with a smile.

'Claim him?' the boy thought, bitterly. Was he some sort of property that could be exchanged, or sold, or regarded as useless and disposed of? If he had merely been dumped in the woods, then his creator must have thought so. If that was the case, he was not sure he would be willing to leave with the alchemist in question, even if that individual came back to 'claim him' as Trovius implied.

The boy's hostility quickly returned to less abstract concepts, such as the present, and Trovius' offensive wording of the situation. Did the doctor assume some sort of right to him?

'You should get out of here,' he reminded himself again.

"Perhaps he should name himself," Shelta said.

That surprised the boy. He wondered if she somehow sensed his obvious discomfort that Trovius—the man far too busy drooling over a newly acquired homunculus—failed to notice. He began to ponder the suggestion, before realizing the only names he knew were Trovius and Shelta. Neither of which he cared for.

Shelta turned to her travel chest, digging through the dresses. She retrieved a worn mirror. "Maybe seeing your face will spark an idea," she said.

Holding it up to his face, an array of emotions ran through the boy's mind. Staring back at him was a pair of strange, purple, cat-like eyes on a youthful face. If he could put an age to what he saw, he would guess seventeen. Smooth features and a mess of very long, sectioned black hair with a hint of green that fell past his waist in unified strands. Over thinly arched eyebrows, he saw a black bandana with a red upside down triangle shape on it. He reached to pull the bandana down, and was surprised to find the same red triangle on his forehead. It was much like the red marks on his back.

The boy decided he did not like his face, though he could not quite comprehend why. It was disappointing to behold—as if he had been competing in a race, only to fall short of the finish. Critiques came easier than flattery, and he compared himself to Doctor Trovius and Shelta, realizing that he was much more attractive than both of them combined. Still, an empty feeling throbbed in his chest, realizing it was not enough. Perfection lorded over him, judging. He turned the mirror downward on the sheets.

On the matter at hand, even with his new face, a name did not come to mind. Trovius began to rattle some off, mostly meaning alchemic symbols, and all of which the boy hated.

He wondered what Shelta thought seeing his face would do. Perhaps she was not fully convinced he was a newborn. After all, what newborn had an unexplained fear of fire, and a torturous memory to go along with it? Even still, his face sparked no memories or even the echo of a name. He gave a shrug of indifference, hoping he would not have to settle for anything too terrible.

"What about Cyrus?" Shelta offered, "it's an old name, meaning: one who is young, but has great aspirations."

He meditated on it for a moment, kind of liking how it sounded. Cyrus. It did have a nice ring to it.

"I like that one," the boy agreed.

"Very good!" Trovius cheered. "It is good to meet you, and welcome to the world Cyrus!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello all, just a quick update, this is a revised chapter as the last one had…issues. I hope you all enjoy despite the inconvenience! Please let me know what you think!_

The morning consisted of Trovius filling Cyrus's head with everything he never wanted to know about alchemy, Homunculi, and the world they lived in. Somewhere in the information dump Cyrus gleaned were they were. They were in a country called Amestris, outside a town called Dublith. He was found by a traveling gypsy caravan, the Lovel Locke clan, to which Shelta belonged. Trovius wasn't a part of their clan, hence why he didn't share any physical characteristics or thick accent.

The doctor also explained equivalent exchange, somehow tying it into one of the factors that brought him into being. From what he gathered it meant one could not simply make something from nothing; something of equal value had to be given.

"It is merely the Truth of Alchemy," Trovius explained, cryptically.

Whatever the hell that meant. Cyrus didn't ask for further explanation… It would likely result in a three hour rant.

"I'm telling you this, my boy, because it plays into a theory I have as to what happened to your creator," Trovius said. "He sacrificed his body in exchange for your birth."

"If my creator knew this law, why would he do it?" Cyrus questioned.

"There's still much we need to discover. Of course, I know of someone who can help with this dilemma, and that is my teacher Rodger Norton! I have yet to tell him about you, and he will be very excited to meet you. I learned everything I know from him. He's retired military, very intelligent man, brilliant alchemist! I need to call him, as he has studied your kind for years, and once you've met I assure you he will be able to explain everything much better than I have." He promised, not noticing the grimace smeared across Cyrus' face. He couldn't grasp the idea of another Trovius obsessing over him. "Personality wise, we have been told we are very similar! I think you'll like him."

Cyrus doubted that.

"Of course," Trovius continued, barely pausing to breath, "Before Rodger arrives I do have a few theories of my own... Your creator could have used your Philosopher's Stone for the toll…" Trovius lowered his tone to a mumble. "But, then why weren't they with you?"

"Philosopher's Stone?" Cyrus echoed.

Trovius clapped his hands together, as if remembering the most important part of his long alchemy explanation.

"I forgot! Currently, it is your core," Trovius pointed to Cyrus's chest, where his heart should have been. "The source of your regenerative power and everything that makes you special. It was once thought to be a myth, but it is a vastly powerful Stone, which enhances a person's alchemic power and can even bend the law of equivalent exchange! It is just as rare as you are, dear Cyrus!"

Cyrus touched the spot with his hand, not feeling anything special. "What makes it rare?"

"Well…it's the means of making a Philosopher's Stone," Trovius became noticeably nervous.

Cyrus thought Trovius' sudden change of presence odd. The old alchemist had held nothing back.

"Doctor?" asked a small voice from the tents entrance. The three turned to meet the gaze of a girl. Though she brought a message for Shelta and Trovius, her full weary attention was locked onto Cyrus. When they met eyes the child shrunk back. "A few people from the village are looking for you. They need help." She explained. Her young face showed worry and fear.

Trovius took in her expression then nodded once, understanding the situation already.

"Are they here?" he asked calmly.

The girl managed a small "yes" in response.

"Bring them in." he told her. The girl nodded. She gave Cyrus one final, fearful look before leaving the tent.

Trovius quickly cleared the table of his notes and gave Cyrus a smile. "It would seem that you are about to get a demonstration."

Trovius was uncharacteristically silent. From his trunk he pulled out a vile with three red Stones and hid them in his pocket. The little girl returned with two others. One was a light-skinned woman with brown hair. She wore an ashen white look of panic. Despite her small frame, she was helping a larger man into the tent. Shelta rose to assist.

Cyrus pulled himself out of the way and sat on Shelta's bed. He zeroed in on the man's left arm, mangled to an unrecognizable mass. It was wrapped with what could have once been white cloth, but was now drenched red. The man's features were wrought with pain. His unevenly tanned skin was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Take a seat," Shelta suggested, helping the injured man sit at the table.

Cyrus watched curiously as Trovius unwound the injured arm. As the bandage fell away, the man let out a yelp.

"What happened?" The doctor asked, observing the injury. It looked a lot worse unwrapped.

"A farming accident," The woman explained, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"I-I got it caught in the turbine," The man hissed through his teeth.

"Let's see if we can fix it," Trovius said with a smile.

Trovius reached into his pocket for the glass vile, while his other hand hovered over the man's arm. A bright red light came from both of Trovius' hands. Once the light faded, like magic, the man's arm was healed—hand, fingers, and skin all back in place.

The pain vanished from the man's expression instantly, as he observed the new appendage in shock. His eyes met Trovius'.

"Thank you so much," the man gasped.

The woman, who Cyrus assumed to be the man's wife, was crying. Despite the tears, she could not keep a smile from her face.

"Yes thank you, How much do we owe you?" she asked through joyful sobs.

"Only what you can afford," Trovius said, and then snickered. "It's all an old alchemist can do to help."

The couple offered him a handful of pocket money, and left with a final thank you. Once they were gone, Trovius pulled the Stones out of his pocket, gasping when he examined them.

"What's wrong?" Shelta asked.

"The smallest one…I think it is reaching its limit," Trovius sighed.

Cyrus came closer to the table to see for himself. The smallest Stone had the slightest crack down the middle.

"How much more do you think it has?" Shelta wondered in a whisper.

The doctor frowned. "No way to tell. I'd say a few more transmutations, after which it needs to be retired before it rebounds."

"Don't risk anything. It's not worth you getting hurt," Shelta said.

"Nothing to worry about Shelta. There are two more for it to draw more power from." Trovius assured her.

"If they are breaking why don't you and Roger just make more?" Cyrus asked, slightly condescendingly.

The simple question made Trovius stiffen uncomfortably. "Yes…these stones have remarkable power, the very same that gives you life, my dear boy." He gave Cyrus a warm glance. "However, they have terrible origins. But, there are those like myself and Roger who want to use them for good. I try my best, I suppose. It's my way of giving meaning to the sacrifice of those within the Stones. I'm sure you shall do the very same, just by living your life to the fullest."

"What sacrifice are you talking about?" Cyrus asked curtly.

"These Stone's draw their immense power from their main ingredient… Very complicated, sad business. Roger and I would never make one ourselves," Trovius seemed to teeter on what to say next. "Many of these Stones were snuck out of the military's laboratories after it was exposed to the public just how they were made. Roger got his hands on a good many of them."

Trovius closed the case containing the Stones with a definite snap. In doing so, something snapped inside Cyrus as well. Being in the dark about what was keeping him alive was an uncomfortable notion.

"You didn't answer my question," Cyrus leered as he spoke. "What made the military stop making the Stones? Tell me."

Trovius sighed deeply. "You see, dear boy, the creation of a Philosopher's Stone was shrouded in secrecy as long as its myth existed… Until recently."

"Trovius," Shelta warned.

"He'll find out one day, anyway. It mine as well be now," Trovius said to her. "Tragically… The main ingredient for a Philosopher's Stone is," his face distorted, as if he tasted something fowl, "is human life."

Cyrus stared at Trovius and Shelta, his thoughts reeling. 'How does one go about turning people into Stones? Who's sick enough to conceive such an endeavor, let alone test it?'

As Cyrus tried to put imagery to Trovius' statement, prisoners simmering in a big bubbling cauldron came to mind. He was sure that wasn't how it was done, but couldn't seem to get the picture out of his head.

"So, the Stone inside me… it's the same? People died to make it?" He asked, hesitantly.

"I'm afraid so, Cyrus," The doctor gave a solemn nod.

Cyrus slowly reached a hand to his chest. "H-how many people are in my Stone?"

"It is impossible to say. But, to make a Homunculus, and power regenerative abilities," Trovius pinched the bridge of his nose, "a few thousand, maybe."

It felt like liquid lead had been pumped into Cyrus' veins. With it, came an onslaught of questions.

'Are these people dead?' he wondered, though immediately reprimanded himself for such a stupid question. He was relieved he did not voice it aloud. 'Of course they're dead! How else would thousands of people fit into a Stone small enough to jam into my chest? 'Wouldn't a civilized society notice thousands of people vanishing? Or maybe, the Stone's creators were careful to choose people who wouldn't be missed…'

Cyrus became ill. He placed his head in his hands.

Shelta rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It was not your choice to receive such a Stone. You mustn't linger on it anymore," She pointed out. "In fact, let's get off the subject of alchemy completely. I'll get breakfast."

She hopped up, proceeding to a waist high wooden shelf in the corner. She retrieved a jar of preserved fruit and a small loaf of bread.

"Interesting fact about Homunculi, they don't need nutrition to survive like us humans. They don't have to sleep either!" Trovius piped up.

"Does that mean he can't eat at all?" Shelta sounded a tad annoyed as she returned to the table.

"Oh no, they can," Trovius smiled as he grabbed a slice of bread. "They just don't have to."

"Well, then he's eating," Shelta handed a slice to Cyrus. "Whether he needs to or not. It's bad manners to eat in front of someone who isn't…"

"That's not at all why I mentioned it, my dear. I was only stating a fascinating fact," Trovius huffed in his defense.

"Adding to the many which you have been prattling on about all morning?" she countered.

Cyrus was appalled by how easily Shelta and Trovius were gliding over the horrifying previous conversation.

He stared at the bread on his plate, then back up at Shelta. "I don't want to eat."

Trovius cleared his throat. After a moment's pause, he pushed his plate away. He too, dropped his gaze to the table.

Perhaps, Trovius regretted telling Cyrus—the one-day-old Homunculus- about the terrible Stone within him. Perhaps, Trovius had thought he could handle the truth. He became upset with the Doctor for making such an assumption. 'How dare he?'

"The Stone, the thousands of people…" Cyrus struggled to form his question. "How do you know all that, anyway?"

The silence in the tent stagnated. Shelta mumbled something about military power, and Trovius once again tasted those bitter words that twisted his old face. Trovius seemed disgusted that his precious alchemic art was used in such a hideous way.

"Roger is retired military, and he is still very well informed."

It was unbelievable. It was too much to take in.

Trovius noted the still and sorrowful look on Cyrus' young face and felt the need to pull him out from under the weight of the previous conversation. Trovius perked up.

"It would seem the rain is done. I think today is a good day to continue the search for our mystery alchemist. Cyrus, seeing as how he is your creator, would you like to accompany me?" Trovius asked politely.

In truth, Cyrus wanted to go. He wasn't exactly keen on finding out who created him and then abandoned him in the woods, but, he wanted to know what kind of person was capable of making a Philosopher's Stone. Why would his creator be so cowardly as to pass the burden onto him?

"Hold on a moment," Shelta ordered.

The doctor stopped in his tracks. "Come now, Shelta. We could have a limited amount of time."

She took her time going through her travel chest despite Trovius' complaint.

"Here Cyrus," Shelta retrieved a few articles of clothing from the trunk. A baggy pair of black pants and a dark purple-buttoned shirt. "It's wet outside, and I don't want you catching cold," she said, with a sort of motherly concern.

"Shelta. Have you been absent for the entire conversation this morning? He is a _Homunculus_. They cannot get sick like us humans. Plus, the clothes he's wearing are created by his Stone to match whatever skill he has. He doesn't need anything else," Trovius said.

"I don't care if it enables him to fly. I won't have him walking around in almost nothing but his skin," Shelta hissed, shoving the clothes past the doctor into Cyrus' hands.

Not wanting to anger the woman further, Cyrus slipped the loose fitting clothes over his existing ones.

"And shoes… I know I have an extra pair somewhere, possibly in the wagon..." Shelta mumbled, searching the tent.

"Shelta, the fact he's-"

"If I hear the word _Homunculus_ one more time, Trovius!" she growled. "I don't have another pair. Here, Cyrus. You can have mine."

Shelta slipped her sandals off and slid them over to him. He stared at the brown sandals. Despite her giving them willingly, he felt guilty. She seemed to need them more than he did.

"I'll be okay," Cyrus pushed them back with his foot.

Shelta made a face before pulling a final article of clothing from her bed. It was the same dark, brown trench coat she had covered him with in the woods. Before he could protest, she draped it over his shoulders.

"At the very least, take this," Shelta said.

He nodded and pulled his arms through the sleeves. Truthfully, he liked the coat. It held the woman's earthy scent.

"Alright, let's head out Cyrus," Trovius sighed, before leaving the tent.

Cyrus gave Shelta a final look before following the man into the morning light.

Cyrus saw the caravan for the first time. Its size matched what he estimated in his head. In a clearing surrounded by woods, stood at least forty tents and wagons scattered in a crude circular formation. Animals, such as horses and goats, grazed towards the edge of the woods. There seemed to be a few more women around then men. Cyrus remembered Shelta mentioning the men usually head into town in search of odd jobs during the day. They would return at night.

Cyrus could hear a melody to his left. He traced it to a dark skinned man, who sat on the edge of a brown and red wagon playing an old violin, stopping only to take a swig from a flask. He found the sound fascinating.

His inspection of the camp was interrupted by a loud pop a few yards away. His eyes searched for the noise, as it continued to crackle and hiss. The smell of smoke wafted around him. In the middle of the camp, a small fire burned wet logs. The area around it had been scorched black.

Then he was back in those tunnels, those murderous black eyes watching him, boots stomping towards him and ready to kill. Instinctively, he turned on his heels and bolted.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello all, sorry for the delay, but I found a major problem with the plot and I had to go back and revise a lot of content relating to Chapter 3, so for those returning the chapter before this one has changed considerably. But trust me it is better. As always, I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think!_

Darkness encroached on Cyrus. It was suffocating. Tunneling.

The forest blurred around him, turning to stone walls. Cyrus ran, lungs burning. Chased by the black-eyed man with his fire, ready to scorch him again. Cyrus stumbled through an archway.

 _"You coward!"_ the man hissed.

All scenery vanished as fire engulfed Cyrus. Pain ripped a scream from his throat. Somehow, he managed to scramble behind a wall. He heard the thud of boots seeking near.

 _"Show yourself-"_

"Cyrus!" Trovius called from a distance.

Was Trovius in the forest or the tunnels? Cyrus glanced around in a panic. He knew the doctor would save him.

"Please help!" Cyrus cried. His focus, broken.

The world was changing too quickly. What if his stalker heard his desperate plea before Trovius or Shelta did? He shoved away from the wall, which instantly became a tree once more.

There were no voices from the camp. Cyrus was almost sure he had lost his stalker, but didn't stop running. He tripped over a rough patch that oscillated between stone floor and leaves. There was an opening in the ground—snaking wires leading down into darkness. He knew he could escape into it.

Cyrus jumped into the pit and immediately hit water. The splash jarred him back to his senses. He stumbled out of a stream and onto the bank, falling into crunching leaves. The tunnels were gone. Peaceful forest surrounded him, just as it should have been.

Cyrus trembled, and glanced around. He wasn't convinced the chase was over. He tried to sift through the nightmarish event. The possibility of the black-eyed stalker peering at him from the trees became less likely by the second. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Cyrus sat on the bank for an hour attempting to calm down. Though, his shame made it difficult.

Now _everyone_ had seen him in this ridicules state. What a pathetic creature he was, letting such irrational fears take him over like that! Trovius had ranted the entire morning about what a spectacular, perfect masterpiece of alchemy he was. He certainly didn't feel any of that now.

After agonizing over his cowardly ordeal, Cyrus knew he couldn't go back to camp. He knew he couldn't face anybody after the incident… Especially not Trovius. It wasn't the escape he had imagined his first night there, but he would have to take it for what it was.

Cyrus placed his head in his hands.

Maybe the event wasn't real at all- How could it be? Trovius had said he was a new born. How could a newborn know the feeling of burning flesh?

"It can't be real," Cyrus repeated allowed.

It simply did not make sense for a newborn Homunculus to have experienced such a thing. Fire was just a force, he reminded himself. It had no thoughts or motivations. It didn't have the ability to give chase. He would be okay so long as he avoided it.

He forced a laugh. The fear seeped out of him like a scabbing wound. Fantasy was fantasy. He would be okay. No one can control fire, after all.

It was late in the day, and Cyrus had no idea which direction he was headed. To make the situation worse, he knew almost nothing about himself. Trovius could have helped him learn, but Cyrus decided he couldn't stand the man. He was not willing to suffer endless rambling tendencies just to glean a bit of information. He was sure he had gained all the most important bits from that morning's long-winded lesson.

He knew about the Stone that gave him life, and the abilities that separated him from humanity. Now he intended to see what had brought all of these factors together. Cyrus didn't know where the transmutation circle was, but he was determine to find it.

After an hour of wandering, Cyrus spotted footprints in the soft mud around a stream. They must have been made by the Gypsies and Trovius from the night before, traveling through the rain to discover the source of the light near their camp.

He smiled. Finally, he had a trail to follow.

After a lengthy hike, the footprints brought him to an opening in the trees. Cyrus stared at the cleared ground, and regarded the patterns made in the dirt. The transmutation circle was massive compared to the one Trovius had shown him on paper the night before. Perhaps twenty-five yards across. It didn't look as if it had been drawn or carved into the ground. Instead, it seemed to be burned there, though the surrounding area wasn't scorched. The footprints from the gypsy camp were the only ones present in the mud. No others were seen.

Cyrus found that strange. Where had his creator come from? Where had he gone?

His eyes fell on the center of the circle, where a small human sized print was left. He assumed this was where Shelta and Trovius had found him. There was no blood, lingering clothes, or other sign that his creator had been drug into oblivion as payment for creating a homunculus. It was merely a circle, formed as if out of thin air.

Cyrus sighed, and took a seat by the elaborate design. What in the world was he doing there? Sitting at his place of birth, awaiting the arrival of some faceless alchemist, like a pathetic dog waiting for his master to come home? He wanted—no —he needed answers. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't find them if he stayed with the silent circle.

"My creator's dead." He muttered.

He hated having to set out with so little information. But greater still, was his hatred towards the fact that he never had the chance to tell off whoever abandoned him at this circle.

A twig behind him snapped and Cyrus rolled his eyes. "I wanted to be alone Trovius," he growled, and shoved himself to his feet. He turned to give the overbearing doctor a glare.

Anger evaporated from Cyrus' face, when he locked eyes with a stunned stranger. A younger man, olive skin, thin light hair, and gaping expression. He was no Gypsy, and was certainly not the old doctor.

"The pulse is stronger ahead do you see it, Tul?" Said another human behind the young man.

A tall man and two others arrived through the trees. They gathered around and stared at the Homunculus by the circle. The site of such a being made them immediately forget about the 'pulse.'

Apparently, Cyrus was not the only one looking for his birthplace. The four strangers' attention flicked to the circle and then back into his purple eyes.

"Who's this?" muttered the tall man, in a thick accent Cyrus didn't recognize. It was different from both Trovius and Shelta's individual drawls.

"Who're you?" Cyrus demanded back, not liking the men's intrusion into his birthplace.

"This array," spoke the man named Tul softly, as if he doubted his own broken Amestrian. "Were you just born here?"

A jolt froze Cyrus' muscles into place. These strangers weren't looking for the circle. They were looking for him.

"Are you my creator?" Cyrus blurted.

His question seemed all the conformation Tul needed. The man's face stretched into a wide grin.

"No, but we can take you to them," Tul extended a tattooed hand to Cyrus.

Cyrus backed away, his head and chest pounding. His creator was supposed to be dead, he reminded himself. How could these men guide him to a ghost?

"God's be praised, we found one." Muttered one of the men behind Tul.

The tallest of the group was shaking his head. He studied Cyrus closely. "I have seen all four Dolls; this isn't any of them."

"It is," Tul whispered, carefully approaching Cyrus. "I sense Morniza's Stone within this one."

Cyrus couldn't make sense out of what he was hearing, and what he thought he knew. Four men claimed to know his creator, some alchemist named Morniza, and they wanted to bring him home. Despite his hesitance, a small hopeful ache pulled at his chest. Perhaps he was wanted. Perhaps his separation from his creator was an accident. The thought was comforting.

"Why is it backing away?" pondered one man with a confused tone. "It should be listening to us."

"Should I stop it?" offered another. He pulled his worn sleeve to reveal smaller transmutation arrays lining his arm. Bracelets with similar designs finished the patterns that his arm lacked.

Cyrus' mind moved from confused but comforted to defensive. These men were not looking for him. They were hunting him. Were they lying about his creator? Should he run and lose whatever they knew, or try to fight them?

"Get away from me..." Cyrus crouched like a cornered animal and continued to back away.

"Stop, all of you!" Tul snarled at the other men, before returning his compassionate gaze to Cyrus. "We are not going to hurt you," he promised, rolling up his sleeves.

There were similar markings adorning Tul's arms. He started to pull off the decorative alchemic bracelets and laid them on the ground. He approached Cyrus with confidence.

Cyrus was forced to stop when his back hit a tree.

"We will take you home. Just come with us, and we'll keep you safe." Tul promised.

'Safe from what?' Cyrus wondered.

A uniformed man stepped out of the dense foliage. The party wheeled to face him. All four of their faces collectively turned pallid.

The site of the blue uniform with its silver and gold trim flushed fear through Cyrus yet again. It was the same garb worn by his killer in the tunnels. Though this lanky man had freckles and dirty blond hair—he was hardly the black-eyed killer stalking him in his nightmares.

"Amestrian soldier," gasped one of the men meekly.

It soon became "soldiers," as a small phalanx of bleach blond men with bright blue eyes and uniforms appeared behind the first.

Even with the tense standoff, Cyrus was locked in his head. 'The stalker in the tunnels is a soldier?' he thought hollowly.

"What's going on here?" questioned one lanky soldier of the party.

Tul stood stiffly straight. He seemed to forget the presence of the cowering teen pressed against a tree. Or perhaps he was trying to shade him from the soldier's view.

"We were separated from our friend," Tul explained, trying to remain casual.

The lanky soldier lifted a wiry eyebrow.

"Cretan accent, am I right?" the soldier guessed. "Am I to assume you are tourists, or do I need to see your papers-" his voice trailed when he noticed the circle on the ground. "Did you make this?" He demanded, much harsher than before.

Tul pursed his lips. He did not speak.

"Answer me! Who drew this? What is it for? We don't take kindly to foreigners sneaking in and preforming who-knows-what kind of undocumented alchemy behind our backs!"

The four men, addressed as Cretans, failed to respond.

The lanky military man gave an irritated huff. "Alright. Have it your way. You're all coming in for questioning."

The tallest Cretan man slipped his sleeve up to his elbow. He twisted an alchemic bracelet over his wrist. The lines of the band connected to the ones on his skin. The array activated with a breathtaking blue illumination. He slapped his palm to the forest floor, and blue light exploded around the party, shoving a wall of dirt into the soldiers' faces.

The Amestrian soldiers reflexively grabbed their guns from their belts, and shot multiple, deafening bangs into the dirt wall.

Cyrus felt the weapons' fire rattle in his chest and skull. His back pressed hard into the tree, his legs locked despite his mind screaming at him to take cover.

When the wave of dirt subsided, Cyrus saw that one of the Cretan men and one of the three soldiers was lying face down in the leaves. Blue light from the remaining foreigners attempted to counter the weapons.

Someone seized Cyrus by the wrist. It was Tul. The two pulled each other towards the denser forest, Tul desperately trying to get him away from the fight.

One ear-blistering bang, and Tul's grip fell from Cyrus' wrist, his body crumpled to the ground. Cyrus didn't have time to catch him, before a bullet called for him as well. Pain exploded in his shoulder, and he fell backwards against the tree. He blinked back tears and gritted his teeth, rushing a hand to his shoulder's aid. He pulled his fingers back. They were sticky and red.

Through ringing ears, Cyrus almost heard the lanky soldier question to another. "You shot the kid…call for a medic Second Lieutenant."

Cyrus' shoulder fell numb, which came at a great relief. Red sparks emerged from his flesh and started licking the injury. The pain faded. His Philosopher's Stone was healing the wound.

Cyrus' mind cleared when the pain vanished. He observed the Cretan men lying scattered around the scene, trying to make sense of their stillness. Finally, he noticed the two soldiers gawking at him, dumbfounded. They had obviously seen the bullet wound close, and the teen's blood vanish from his coat.

"W-what the hell is…he healed?" the lanky man gasped. "Like, those other homunculi can, the rumors about the Co-, it's all real?"

A jolt went through Cyrus' still sparking body. There were other homunculi? He was of the impression that he was the only one. More pressingly, why were the military men so terrified of other homunculi?

Tul gasped and held his bleeding stomach. Cyrus startled. The man was still alive, still determined. Cyrus thought of Trovius' healing alchemy. The doctor could heal Tul's fatal wound. Then Tul could tell him everything.

The stoic Second Lieutenant was cold. He glared hard into Cyrus' eyes, almost accusingly. "Are you one of them?" He demanded, reloading his weapon.

Cyrus didn't say anything. He had no idea what the Lieutenant was talking about. He was a homunculus, but didn't understand the horrified expression the officer wore when assuming this of him.

He flinched when the barrel of the gun aimed between his eyes.

The lanky officer's gun was shaking, stuttering to his fellow soldier, "We need to call Central Command…we need to inform Fuhrer Grumman and General Musta-" A single shot cut the officer off. The gun dropping from his hands. Then the lanky man collapsed.

The Second Lieutenant snorted, his gun smoking from firing the offending bullet. Cyrus sat stunned, wondering what in the world would prompt the military man to turn on his own partner. Cyrus' head was fuzzy and spinning. He wished he wasn't the military man's focus.

"Lucky," the Lieutenant sighed, almost in relief. "I didn't think anything would come of trailing these Arbus dogs, but they brought me right to you." He gave Cyrus a condescending smile. "Thinking they could outwit Creta's might…oh well, either way, two Stones down, two to go." He shrugged and pulled off one of his gloves, revealing a transmutation circle of his own. His palm reached out to Cyrus, the lines of the array glowing.

'Run! Do anything! damn it!' Cyrus shrieked internally at his frozen muscles.

Tul was gasping, drawing a circle in the dirt with his fingers. Though to no avail. The imposter soldier dispatched the human at Cyrus' feet with another bullet. He flinched away from the red spray that splattered his face.

The looming Amestrian/Cretan soldier knelt down, and pressed his glowing hand to Cyrus' chest. Cyrus squinted his eyes tight in anticipation of death.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey all, sorry for the delay, but I'm having more trouble with the plot...I shall be working diligently to correct it and get back on track! As always, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Darbus stood in the ashes of what was once his people's most sacred place. The fires were extinguished by a deluge the night before, but the inferno in his heart was still blazing. He clung to his hate despite the pain it cost him. It was the only thing left to push him forward.

In one night, he lost half of his people, their remaining Sacred Stones, and his beloved sister, Lyda.

He had yet to determine what happened to Lyda. All he knew was that she ran for the trees with the Stones before being captured by the Cretan military. A selfish part of him clung to the hope that she was still alive. Logic reminded him that would be detrimental.

If she had survived, her captors would waste no time attempting to extract their people's secrets from her, especially if the Cretans were now in possession of all four Stones. Of course, the fool Cretans had no idea how to use the Stones. They still did not know Morniza's Dolls were essential to the Stones' power. Creta might have stolen one of the Stone's from his grandfather then, but as Darbus was sure they had discovered very painfully, they could not use it. Even more reason why they would most likely need Lyda alive.

Darbus wished they had taken him instead. He would give them nothing but hateful glares, and the most fowl curses he could conger.

One of the last standing support pillars collapsed into the altar, disturbing ash into the air. It settled onto his shoulders and creamy flaxen hair. He covered his mouth and nose to keep from choking.

When Darbus was a child, the temple had been a beloved fortress. He could picture his parents walking him and Lyda around the grounds, pointing out the ancient writings on the pillars and tomes. Educating them on the elaborate alchemy that painted the walls, tapestries, and stained glass. He could almost hear Morniza's gentle voice telling tale after tale. Him and Lyda's innocent, child eyes focused on their grandfather's face as they listened from his lap.

Darbus' grandfather…the most brilliant alchemist their people had ever known. The first man to discover a means of using their people's limitless Stones.

"What do I do now, Grandfather?" Darbus whispered to Morniza's ghost. "I am so lost."

"Mr. Darbus," called the fretful voice of his young aid, Bin.

Darbus jumped. His body wound tighter than a watch spring ready to snap.

"We should move on… Our watchers tell us that Cretan forces are returning before nightfall, possibly checking for survivors. The Milosians are offering us refuge in Milos. Should we begin to evacuate those who are left?" Bin asked, rather hopelessly.

Darbus considered the options. They were lucky for the charity of the Milosians, their only allies left in the world. The only other choice was to storm the closest Cretan military base in an attempt to reclaim his sister and the Stones. The latter was what his rage wanted, but such a mission would be the end of the Arbus people. Darbus had to do what was best for the tribe as a whole. That meant, leaving Lyda and the Stones behind.

Darbus and his small rescue party gained what they needed from the ruined temple, which was the remnants of cultural artifacts. Their home city near the temple had been blazed to the ground. There was nothing left for them there. The remaining eight hundred members of the Arbus tribe scattered to the surrounding forest and plains. Death would come for them once the Cretans swept back through the land. Everyone waited for Darbus' command.

"We will head for the Miliosian city." Darbus sighed, glancing around, giving the ruined place one final silent goodbye.

"Mr. Darbus!" cried another man, stumbling over the stone path from the courtyard. The elder priest's apprentice, by the looks of his scorched robes.

The apprentice's panic alarmed the rescue party. Had the Cretan military returned early? Would Darbus' men have to fight their way back to safety?

"What is it?" Darbus slipped alchemic bracelets over his wrists, ready to indulge his festering hatred in battle.

"We found something not far from here. The Cretan vehicles were there too, but left… We think it was left by Ms. Lyda." The apprentice explained, breathlessly.

A twinge of hope grew from the pit of anger. Lyda had left something behind… Could it be the Stones? Darbus spat at the foolishly optimistic thought. The Cretans would never leave them where they lay. When the Cretans had slain his grandfather in his sleep, they wasted no time taking the one Stone they managed to find and destroying all of Morniza's alchemy.

"It looks like her alchemy…" The apprentice elaborated. "But we can't identify it's meaning, or where she could have gained such power to use it."

Darbus felt his stomach fall. He realized exactly where Lyda had gotten the power.

He and his men ran where the apprentice led. Out of the forest and across the plains, just before the distant valleys. The towering plateaus and deep canyons nested a massive transmutation circle burned into the dirt.

Lyda's aid stood beside the circle, her face a mask of sorrow. She was an older woman named Gidaba, more of a grandmother than a servant. She cared deeply for the two siblings.

Darbus hadn't the heart to look Gidaba in the eyes. Instead, he dropped to one knee and inspected his sister's circle closer, running a tattooed hand across one of its lines. He was amazed it had survived the rain and the Cretan military vehicles' tracks.

The circle was clearly his grandfather's alchemy. Lyda had to have created it. She was the only other human alive, besides himself, who knew Morniza's work.

"We also found this…" The priest's apprentice said in defeat.

The apprentice held up a broken wooden box. The container for the Arbus tribe's precious Sacred Stones, heartlessly empty of its contents. Darbus slowly stood, taking the splintered box from the apprentice, and turned it within his hands.

Darbus shook his head, trying to will his mind into his sister's. What had she been thinking the night she made the circle? Then the familiar alchemy clicked in his mind.

"Lyda used the Stones' to open the door, just as Grandfather did," Darbus mumbled.

Everyone gasped, glancing at the circle in sudden reverence.

"B-but that would have-" the priest's apprentice could not finish the thought.

Everyone standing near that circle knew such power would have destroyed the one using it. Unless, of course, the Stones were contained.

"Does that mean Ms. Lyda is dead?" wailed Gidaba, falling to her knees near the circle's edge. She ran a trembling hand across its markings, trying to bring herself closer to the woman in question.

"No," Darbus stated stubbornly. His eyes followed the tracks, seeing his sister's footprints entering the circle. He noticed a struggle, as those same prints fought against heavy booted ones. "She was alive when she came back from the Truth. She went in to save the Stones. She must have sent them away."

"But the Stones can only travel along the Pulsing River if they are within Master Morniza's Dolls," Bin reminded him. "And the Stones have not been within their Dolls for years!"

The rescue party looked to Darbus hopefully. His lips pursed as he stared hard into the empty box.

"What our parents couldn't do in ten years….she figured it out. She retrieved our grandfather's Dolls and sent them to safety. Creta does not have them," Darbus said confidently. He smiled. "My sister did it. The genius."

Darbus couldn't help but laugh, his heart aching both with pride and sorrow for Lyda.

Bin realized the good news just as the others did. "So, if she was able to retrieve Master Morniza's Dolls from the void-"

"The Stones' power can be used once more!" Darbus said, triumphantly. "We can retrieve our land! Our dead, avenged… Lyda saved!"

"We can start the search once our people are safe with the Miliosians!" the priest's apprentice exclaimed, joyfully.

"But where in the world could she have sent them?" said Gidaba, remaining by Lyda's circle. Her eyes watered over their lost leader. "Will we leave Ms. Lyda to the Cretans?" she asked, her voice breaking.

Darbus was still, his eyes focused on the box.

That was when he noticed the peeling velvet from the box's bottom.

It had been torn deliberately, though not by the frustrated hands of those who had taken his sister. It was careful, meant to remain hidden. Darbus peeled back the cloth. His hands shook when he saw the markings hastily carved into the exposed wood. It wasn't a language that existed, but he instantly recognized its meaning.

Memories of his simple youth returned. He and Lyda as children, hiding under the temple's long wooden pews, carefully scratching out made-up letters and phrases. It was a simple language only they could read. It came in handy when passing notes, mocking their instructor's long nose, and arranging an escape from studies. The notes were found by their adult caretakers many times, but the contents remained secret. The fake letters, a mix of their ancient and current tongue.

The carvings on the box served a similar purpose. If those from Creta saw the message, they would never know what it said. However, Darbus did. He almost heard his sister whispering the words.

 _"They are in Amestris. They are different."_

Amestris. Creta's grudging allies to the east. But, what of Lyda's strange reference to "they?" He knew she meant the Dolls, but what did she mean by, "they are different?" Did they look different from the alchemic dolls their grandfather made, or were they completely different creations from an unknown source?

Darbus hadn't time to ruminate. Lyda's plea would go unheard if he did not act quickly.

"We have men past the Amestrian boarder, do we not?" Darbus questioned his men. So desperate to escape persecution in Creta, many of their people had been sent into other lands.

"Aye sir, we do!" Bin replied.

Darbus felt a rumbling of hope in his chest. "If our men are near to one of the circles, they will be able to sense the Pulse to the closest Doll! If we find one Doll, we can find the others!"

The broken party cheered in understanding.

"But when we contacted our people beyond the boarder, they were of the impression that they were being followed by the Cretans," Gidaba muttered. "Will those Cretan stalkers not attempt to destroy whatever Dolls they find at the circles?"

Everyone was once again silent, looking to their leader.

Darbus clenched his fists. It was the very same reason the Cretan people had killed his grandfather and destroyed his alchemic Doll creations fifteen years ago. The Cretan fools assumed they needed all the Stone's together to work. They thought the alchemic Dolls that housed them were merely ritualistic, backwards alchemic practices from a poor folksy people that didn't know what they possessed. This judgment of the Arbus people was what doomed the Cretans to never use the one Stone they stole.

However, if Creta were to destroy the Dolls again, and his captured or dead sister Lyda was the only one who knew how to bring them back, then their power would truly be lost forever.

Finally, Darbus answered his sister's aid. "Then we can only hope they are not followed."


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello all, here is chapter 6! As always, hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!_

* * *

A single rifle shot shook the woods.

Cyrus' eyes flew open. The soldier's hand dropped from his chest. The transmutation on the palm lost its light, as the man crumpled to the ground in front of him.

Numbly, Cyrus glanced up and saw a haggard man holding a long, smoking rifle. He was no Cretan or soldier. Rather, a tan skinned, black haired gypsy. In fact, he was the one Cyrus had seen that morning, playing the violin and drinking from a silver flask.

The gypsy man's dull expression found Cyrus. "That was close," he mused.

The gypsy seemed unfazed by his own violence. He rested the rifle on his shoulder, freeing his hand to dig out a flask from his coat. He took a generous gulp, then stumbled over to Cyrus. He knelt and inspected the two men lying still by his feet.

"Yeah that's about as dead as you can get." The gypsy said, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to Cyrus.

Cyrus accepted with trembling hands, wiping his face clean of the blood.

"The name's Boamos Black, by the way," the gypsy offered, along with his outstretched hand. An act so casual, it caught Cyrus off guard.

Mechanically, Cyrus reached to shake Boamos' hand. He winced when he was tugged to his feet instead. "C-Cyrus." He stuttered in exchange.

Boamos gave a knowing smile. "Shelta name ya? That's an old clan name, ya know."

Cyrus couldn't even bring himself to nod. The most he could do was cling to Boamos, who reeked of booze. Cyrus didn't complain. It masked the smell of blood well.

"They hit ya?" Boamos noticed the bullet hole through Cyrus' coat, and pulled it away to assess the wound. At the site of the boy's unscathed pale skin, he pursed his lips. "Looks like you took care of it already," he said with a shrug, dismissing the impossible regenerative ability as simply as he had everything else. "Shelta can patch the coat, at least. It means a lot to her. Can hardly say it has been the first bullet-hole patched in this old coat neither. The old Cyrus had a knack for causing trouble to," he snickered, his mind wandering off into pleasant memories.

"Cyrus!" called Trovius in a panic. The doctor and many others from camp came through the trees, standing stiffly as they took in the scene.

"All this fuss over your boy, Doc. Caught the last guy, though, before he could touch him," Boamos explained, tapping the rifle to his shoulder again.

Trovius studied the alchemic markings on the Second Lieutenant's hand and gasped. He ran to Cyrus, pulling him away from Boamos and into a tight embrace. One that the teen would have fended off under normal circumstances.

"I am so sorry Cyrus, I won't let you out of my sight again, I swear!"

"What was he going to do to me?" Cyrus asked.

Trovius failed to answer that question. He was only capable of repeatedly promising to keep Cyrus safe from then on.

Cyrus was herded away from the carnage, Trovius still gripping him protectively.

Despite the bloody scene behind them, Boamos snickered, "Now back home to think up what to tell the military. Let's make it simple for them and leave out the alchemic magic."

He chased the thought down with another drink from his flask.

* * *

 _He stood watching the butchery before him, his toes sinking into sun-scorched sand. More than twenty men, a swarm of soldiers, were firing into the screaming crowd. The smell of blood stuck in the hot, suffocating air._

 _"Ishvala, save us!"_

 _"Die, State Alchemist Dogs!"_

 _A hellish, red alchemic light blasted forth, and the ground-shattering bomb that followed silenced them all._

* * *

"Cyrus, wake up, we're almost in town."

A soft, unfamiliar voice snapped Cyrus back to conscious thought. He had no idea how long he had been locked in his own head. What in the world had his mind constructed as a delusional dream? Possibly, the strange violent vision was a byproduct of what he had seen in the forest. No matter its meaning, he hoped never to repeat it.

Cyrus struggled against the sheets of a bed that he had no recollection of getting into. He wasn't in Shelta's tent, rather a small, colorful wooden carriage that shook with forward movement. He locked eyes with a gypsy girl perched beside him. She looked about seventeen, the same age Cyrus appeared to be. Her skin was a light auburn, and her head was curled with raven black locks that bounced along with the ride.

Cyrus stared at the girl, trying to place her attractive face; to understand her as more than a stranger.

"Aunt Shelta told me to wake you," The girl said, when Cyrus' agape mouth failed to say anything. "Dr. Welling was going to, but he's too flustered, and Aunt Shelta felt it would be best if I did. Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Florica. You already met my cousin Boamos. A shame we have to meet under such bad circumstances…"

Before Cyrus realized that his mouth was hanging open, a question fell out. "Where are we going?" he asked, and he would have spouted more had he not sobered at the sound of his voice. He winced, and closed his mouth with a definite click. He thought it was stupid for some reason, and assumed Florica thought so too.

If such judgment crossed her mind, it didn't show. "Town. Dr. Welling doesn't want the military seeing you. So we're traveling in Aunt Shelta's wagon to the outskirts of town until they leave."

Florica stood from her place and dusted off her knees, ruffling her hand-sewn pink and white dress.

At first, Cyrus had no idea who Dr. Welling was, though recalled after a moment's pondering that "Welling" was Trovius' last name. The man's full designation had left so little impression on him, that it escaped his mind shortly after acquainting themselves.

Speaking of the old Doctor, Cyrus could hear Trovius' panicked voice outside the carriage. He was barking at Shelta in argument.

Cyrus realized his inherited shirt and coat were draped over a small table pressed against a window, waiting to be patched. This left him in the black half undershirt he was born in. His cheeks burned self-consciously at being half-naked in Florica's presence. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. She peeked passed the colorful curtains at the blurred outside, probably checking for soldiers along the dirt road. Cyrus frowned, realizing he was hurt by the notion of the girl not finding him attractive enough to glance.

A terrible sentiment overcame him… Was he that dull looking?

"Do you need help? Dr. Welling said you were hurt," Florica offered, snapping him back to reality.

Cyrus heard Trovius raise his tone in flailing worry over "the boy's shooting incident."

Right. He had been shot. His hand traveled to the spot on his bare shoulder where the bullet had penetrated. It was smooth, aside from the red node on the back of his shoulder. He rolled his eyes, realizing the doctor was the overly cautious type.

But, Trovius hadn't addressed him. Florica had. Cyrus forced himself into a sitting position and faced her. "N-no, I'm alright," he managed to say.

"Hurry then, before the poor doctor has a heart attack," Florica said, lightheartedly.

She opened the small door across from Cyrus and ducked out, leaving him alone. He considered his situation in frustrated silence. The gypsies weren't half as panicked of the military as Trovius was. However, going by what had happened with the Amestrian soldiers, Cyrus decided to air on the side of caution and cover himself. He found a fresh shirt at the foot of his bed and pulled it over his head. Through the worn wooden walls of the carriage, he could still hear Trovius yapping away about "great danger to the boy." He was glad when the doctor was interrupted by Shelta.

"It will take longer than a day to pack up and leave the area, Trovius, you know that," Shelta reminded Trovius, in an irritated tone.

"Those men were after Cyrus, we can't stay here and keep him safe!" Trovius growled back.

"They killed each other, and the last was dispatched by my nephew," Shelta said. "We are prepared for the military coming. Those back at camp will redirect any other soldiers who attempt to come our way. They will go as far as the bodies in the woods."

"This is why we must leave as soon as possible! The military will see the circle that created Cyrus! What if there is someone among them who recognizes it, like a State Alchemist? They'll come looking for him! They can't know he exists!" Trovius insisted.

"Why not?" Cyrus asked as he emerged from behind the door.

Shelta and Trovius sat behind the reins of two heaving mules. Florica was skipping beside the cart, humming contentedly despite the situation.

"Because…" The doctor stammered and babbled up several unintelligible non-answers. He had hoped Cyrus hadn't heard the conversation, though he was a miserable failure at being discrete. "Because!"

Cyrus glowered. Trovius was keeping secrets, which pissed him off to no end.

A raspy voice chuckled over their heads. Cyrus glanced up, and saw Boamos lying comfortably on the wagon's arched roof. Boamos chased down a stack of hard biscuits with reeking booze, adjusted himself to a sitting possession, and beamed condescendingly downward. Trovius gave a warning glare in return. One that Boamos easily ignored.

Boamos answered Cyrus' question very matter-of-factly. "Simple. The military would think you would look lovely locked up in one of their many alchemy labs."

"Boamos!" Trovius hissed, dangerously, and Boamos put up his hands in a symbol of mock surrender. Trovius tried to salvage the situation somewhat. "You are a rare and valuable resource my dear boy. I don't want to see anything happen to you."

"Doing well on that promise," Boamos snickered. "He's what, not even two days old, and he's already been shot?"

"Shelta," Trovius growled through his teeth, desperately trying to maintain his cracking composure. "Please remove your nephew from this conversation."

Cyrus disagreed with the idea. Boamos saved his life. He was the only person being both honest and candid with him. He also seemed to bother Trovius immensely… Another point in the man's favor. Still, he decided against speaking up.

"You shouldn't worry about it, Cyrus," Trovius glanced over his shoulder towards the road in a paranoid fashion. "But either way, we must hurry, before those from the military come and see you-"

"Would you answer my god damn question for once?" Cyrus snapped, startling the doctor with his outburst. "Am I really all that rare?" Trovius failed to answer immediately, so Cyrus demanded more pointedly, "Before the officer was shot in the head, he was terrified when he saw me regenerate. He asked me if I was 'one of them?' who the hell was he talking about?"

All eyes were soon focused on Trovius once again, and his already pale face turned ashen.

"Want me to tell 'im?" Boamos offered, casually.

"Absolutely not!" Trovius hissed. "Please Cyrus, I don't want to worry you, but… If you really want to know I can give you a brief outline of… A particular set of events that occurred a few years previous… Applying to why the military should remain ignorant to your existence, my dear boy."

Cyrus didn't budge, but glared at Trovius suspiciously.

"Once we get to town, I will call my teacher, Roger Norton," Trovius promised. "He will be able to better identify the origins of your transmutation circle, Cyrus. From what you spoke about those men, we can assume it is Cretan in nature, though Roger is far more learned in foreign alchemy than I am. He will be able to explain everything."

The doctor's intention to pass off the problem to someone else was irritating, and Cyrus intended to call him out on it. Before he could, the trees along the road thinned. Cyrus' amethyst eyes shifted from Trovius to the foreign sight of a town below them.

The wagon had stopped on a large hill overlooking Dublith, which was made up of old stone and brick buildings. Colorful rooftops lined the town in a mismatched grid, broken up by the occasional water tower or factory. Both old and new automobiles buzzed along paved streets.

"After you, doc," Boamos said, before jumping off the wagon's roof, securing the violin case over his shoulder.

"The military should be gone by nightfall," Shelta said. "I have to return to camp to assure everything goes smoothly…" she stopped, and looked sternly to Boamos who was grinning widely. "Do try not to attract too much negative attention this time, will you?"

Shelta flicked the reigns and turned the wagon around, moving back down the road at an easy pace. Cyrus watched her leave warily. He had hoped she would accompany them to offset Trovius' paranoid insanity. It was only when Florica clasped his hand and pulled him forward, did he turn to face the road ahead.


	7. Chapter 7

Cyrus walked the hard stone street that led into town. Catty-corner was a small train station, with tracks stretching from the edge of town into the cleared forest and hills.

The strident train's whistle cut through Boamos as it blew into town. He winced, and glared from the train to his empty flask with painful disdain. "You do what you have to, Doc, but I need to stop and take the edge off this day. So far, it's been a little too exciting, and it's not even noon."

"Water is much better for a hangover," Trovius informed tersely, offering a canteen of water. He cast an expression of worry directed towards Boamos. "I believe we've talked about this excessive drinking of yours. You are going to destroy your liver. Not to mention, you are already showing signs of a damaged heart."

Boamos accepted with a sigh.

Cyrus was relieved he wasn't the only one Trovius nagged. Though he did feel bad for Boamos, who had been dealing with the annoyance for much longer.

"So, Trovius?" Cyrus inquired curtly, shifting the focus from Boamos back to his own pressing curiosity. "You said, once we got to town, you would give me an explanation of what happened with the military a few years ago… You know… Explain why they are so terrified of me, and why they can't know I exist? I'd like to hear it."

"Yes…I did didn't I?" The doctor's shoulders grew noticeably tense. "Well…"

Cyrus assumed Trovius must have been counting on him forgetting the initial conversation. Perhaps, Trovius considered him some sort of idiot. A thought that made Cyrus scowl.

"That's what I heard," Boamos interjected, earning him a smack on the shoulder from his cousin, Florica.

Cyrus chuckled at the gypsy man's attitude. Clearly, Boamos didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him. A character trait Cyrus pined to have.

Trovius mustered the courage to give Cyrus a halfhearted smile.

"You know what…" Trovius began, but then stopped himself. He stared off, not saying another word for a long while.

Cyrus knew by Trovius' tone that the old man was backtracking. Of course, he would go back on his word. Cyrus had no idea why he trusted him in the first place.

The Doctor replied, thoughtfully, with a nervous laugh. "After I speak to Roger, we shall go to the town's library, and in addition to my research on your creation array, I will show you a few documents relating to the subject, which are not too… Overwhelming."

Cyrus almost collapsed from boredom just thinking about that. An afternoon locked in a quiet, information-cramped building with _Trovius_. He pondered his escape for a second time that day. Being ignorant and lost seemed more preferable to the alternative.

Florica sighed, as if sick to death of the back-and-forth between Cyrus and the Doctor... Or Boamos and the Doctor… Or anyone and the Doctor.

"Well, why not ask the alchemist here in town?" Florica offered, and smiled sweetly.

Cyrus wondered why the girl was invested at all.

The simple question had Trovius even more nervous, so instantly Cyrus wanted to know more.

"You mean, Izumi Curtis," Trovius muttered. "Y-yes, she was indeed present for the events a few years back, but-"

Curiosity shot through Cyrus. There was someone, an alchemist who was not Trovius, who may know something about who he was?

"When it comes to Cyrus' safety, I am not confident in the trust worthy nature of many alchemists," the Doctor explained. "Besides. I paid Izumi a visit just the other day- us Alchemists tend to drop in when we are in town, you know- But she was not even home. The shop keeper said she and her husband were visiting a few of her students in Resembool."

Cyrus was tempted to shove Trovius into the path of the automobile that was heading towards them.

Boamos scoffed and countered. "You invited Roger into the mix, and HE'S an alchemist who's been looking for a homunculus since, what, the day he found out about them forty years ago? What if he's still involved with his old military buddies?"

The doctor wheeled around and glared. "Now see here, Boamos! Roger Norton is a teacher and colleague of mine… One whom I have been friends with for over thirty years. I trust Roger with my life and have utmost confidence in him. I don't know this Izumi Curtis half as well, so I don't trust her. I'm not saying she's not a talented alchemist, I just don't think Cyrus should be exposed to-"

"Alright Doc, you win!" Boamos interrupted, squinting and massaging the headache from his temples. "Just call the guy, and we'll be loitering around."

Trovius shot Boamos a dark look before conceding. There was a phone booth nearby, which he made use of, securing the glass doors tight behind him.

Cyrus was about to voice a complaint, though that was before he notice the plotting look in Boamos' eyes.

"Let's head out," Boamos nudged Cyrus in the shoulder.

Florica was enthralled with looking into a shop window drooling over the dresses, and of course the doctor was busy chatting away with his friend on the booth's rotary phone. Cyrus smiled and snuck behind Boamos into town.

Cyrus and Boamos wandered aimlessly until they located a small bar in the outskirts of town. They found a stool in a cozy corner looking out onto the open street and sat. Boamos bought himself a good many drinks to ease his hangover.

Cyrus, nursing a glass of ice water and stared out into the colorful streets at the automobiles. "Boamos… What isn't Trovius telling me? Do you really know?"

Boamos stroked his stubble beard. The warmth of alcohol made it a struggle to recall. "Somewhat… It's kind of hard to explain. There was a military coup d'état two years ago, and yeah, there are rumors about who all was involved."

"Trovius is never going to tell me... Can you tell me what happened?"

Before Boamos could answer, a loud man at the bar scoffed.

"You don't remember, kid? Where the hell were you?" the man snickered, and swayed on his stool. He was clearly inebriated past his limit.

Cyrus's cheeks burn with embarrassment, which he hoped was masked by his glare.

"Not here," Boamos answered, evenly. "The boy's from Creta."

Cyrus was amazed at just how easily Boamos lied. It seemed second nature to him.

"Oh, well, lemme tell ya," The man slurred, downing his drink before continuing gruffly. "Two years ago, our government and its infinite wisdom thought they could play God! Tried to sacrifice everyone in the whole damn country fer some alchemic voodoo!"

The mention of 'sacrifice' stuck in Cyrus' head. He thought of Trovius' rant that morning- the terrifying explanation of how the Stone in his chest was made. It took countless human lives to create one stone. Here, this drunken bar man hinted towards a military plan to create a massive stone… One that would have used everyone in the entire country as ingredients. Cyrus was half horrified, half amazed by the crazed ambition behind such a plot.

Even if it was true… Cyrus didn't understand how he was involved. He got his answer, as the man continued to ramble.

"Rumors started spreading that the military got the idea by these half-human things… Twisted creatures alchemists make when they feel like playin' God…" the man spat on the floor, and gestured the bar keeper for another drink. "What the hell are they called?"

"Homunculi?" Cyrus offered, dryly.

The man slapped the bar. "Yeah, that's it! But, when it all went to hell, the military turned on em'. I guess that's what they get, the freaks!" He laughed.

Cyrus' mind spun trying to make sense out of the man's nonsense. So, there were others of his kind, and the military was working with them. Both parties were behind a plot to kill every human in Amestris in exchange for a massively powerful Philosopher's Stone. It finally made sense why the officer in the woods had been so scared of him. He thought Cyrus was 'one of them,' meaning the homunculi that nearly killed everyone in their country.

Cyrus hadn't long to linger on his thoughts. An argument broke out among the patrons around him. The topic obviously hit a sore spot for many people.

"What are you talking about now, Frud? General Mustang and all of his men are heroes!" hissed the bar tender.

Someone behind them chimed in. "I think it was really Drachma. They couldn't handle their defeat up North, so they dabbled in alchemic voodoo to get back at us!"

"Drachma hardly has any alchemy to speak of. The snow savages are too stupid to understand anything but violence." Another drunken someone scoffed.

"Personally," Frud interjected, self-righteously. "I do think it was our military. They needed to clean out their labs of the freaks they had made, so they threw a bunch of State Alchemists at them to fix the problem. I have a cousin in the military who was there, and he said he saw these hom-ugly things. They were like soulless dolls, and the military turned it into a turkey shoot!"

"Oh Frud," sighed a woman next to him, sounding exasperated. "Not this crazy theory again…"

"What!? The government has no business making unnatural things like that! Not with my tax money!" Frud snapped at the woman. "I mean, what do you do when you see an animal that isn't right? You put a bullet in its head! I think it's humane, myself. Why let something like that live?"

Cyrus chewed the inside of his cheek. Both rage and hurt swelled in his chest. The drunken man was unknowingly calling him an "alchemic freak." He imagined standing from his chair and shoving the man's empty glass down his throat. The only thing stopping him was, interestingly enough, Boamos by his side. Cyrus figured he had to have some self-control and not let every twisted thought dictate his actions. What would Boamos think of him? Just a violent stupid kid.

Even still Cyrus found himself glaring at the table, unable to look at the man. "They didn't ask to be made," he mumbled to himself.

The drunken man heard Cyrus, and scoffed. "The abominations didn't have souls anyway, so who cares? Not me! They needed to be put down."

Boamos shot back his liquor and stood up from his chair.

"Cyrus, hold this for me would ya?" Boamos said, and passed off the violin case strapped to his back.

Boamos strutted to the drunken man's perch and tapped him on the shoulder. The man glanced over his shoulder and gave Boamos a nasty look.

"Th' hell you sneering at, Gypsy?" the man snapped.

"I just thought the spew of crap flapping from your mouth would make more sense if I stood closer." Boamos explained, coolly.

Frud rose abruptly from his seat and faced Boamos. "You wanna run that by me again, Aerugonian rat?"

"Sorry, let me make it simpler."

Boamos took the man by the shoulder and collided his fist into the man's face with an audible crack.

Frud stumbled backwards, disoriented and grasping his jaw. The rage in Cyrus was replaced with amusement and he laughed wholeheartedly. He was not the only one. A few other patrons cheered, as well.

Frud pulled himself together and grabbed Boamos' shirt, managing to hit him in the chin. Boamos shook it off, and gave a smug and bloody smile before lunging for his opponent's throat. The men toppled tables and chairs as they wrestled. A crowd gathered and began placing bets, Cyrus of course, rooting for Boamos. It was anyone's match for a tense minute, but Boamos gained the upper hand.

The bar tender yelled over the crowds' cheers, "Cut it out! I'm calling the military police!"

That didn't stop Boamos from dealing one last kick to the gut, permanently landing Frud to the floor.

"Military police? Boamos, what did you do?" A shrill female voice called from the door.

Cyrus turned and saw Florica storm in, looking very irritated. She grabbed Boamos by the arm and pulled him away from the brawl. Cyrus flashed a wry smile at the bar tender, slung Boamos' violin case over his shoulder, and followed the two gypsies out into the streets.

"You're impossible, you know that, cousin?" Florica growled and shoved a damp cloth into his hands. "Aunt specifically told you to be good, and what do you do? You pulverize a guy to a bloody pulp!"

Boamos snickered and pressed the cloth to his chin. Cyrus watched the blood pool under the surface of Boamos' bronzed skin, finding it so strange that the mark didn't heal right away.

"So, Cyrus," Boamos chuckled, his speech somewhat garbled by his swelling mouth. "To answer your question from before, about the military and the homunculi two years ago… Fact is nobody knows what happened, for sure. I doubt the whole truth will ever come out."

The three sat in silence for a good while. Cyrus observed Boamos' face carefully. His weathered eyes were gloomy, and his mind seemed far away.

Boamos snickered and concluded, "It's a good lesson, though. A rule I live by, actually. You never know if the next day you wake up will be your last. Knowing that helps me, personally. I appreciate life more after accepting that… Not enough to stop drinking, but you know..."

Cyrus became lost in reverie. The words of the man back at the bar were ringing in his ears. He wondered if there was any truth to what had been said out of drunken hate.

Cyrus thought of his own immortal body and of his soul. Was he really just an empty, living doll? He thought of the stone Trovius had used in healing the farmer man's arm earlier that day- how it was cracked and nearing the end of its life, about to fade away. Cyrus touched his own chest instinctively. Once the power in his Stone burned away, from attack, or ancient old age, would his mind… Do the same?

"But, your rule doesn't really apply to me," Cyrus said with a grimace, though trying to sound indifferent. "I'm not technically alive to begin with…" Boamos gave him a quizzical glance, and he explained further. "No soul to lose. "

"That's not at all true," Florica said. "You are too alive! Don't let whatever that drunk guy said back there get you down! Did he really seem like an expert on much of anything?"

Cyrus laughed once, in agreement. "I guess there's no real way to prove it, either way."

"The fact it's bugging you is all the proof I need," Boamos countered. "That's what a soul is, you know. You got an ego that gets bruised, feels pain, is confused... Would a soulless doll really give a damn what someone else thinks of them? Would it?"

Boamos saw that Cyrus was distressed and turned the conversation towards the amusing, mentioning how pathetic Trovius likely looked scouring the town for them. Florica was quick to reprimand him for it. Cyrus, of course, chuckled at Boamos. In the short time they'd known each other, Boamos did have a knack for cheering Cyrus up.

Cyrus decided he did not want to leave the gypsies, but couldn't explain why. True, Trovius was annoying in his overbearingness. But, Boamos had grown on him, and Florica and Shelta weren't bad company, either.

If he did have a soul, maybe that feeling was part of it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello all. This last chapter took a while…let me explain! I just got a new job! So as consequence I haven't had as much time to work on the story. Then additionally I got majorly sick…so that was a thing. In short I hope to have new chapters out sooner; these past few weeks were just odd. Long story short, tell me what you think, and as always enjoy!_

* * *

"All couldn't be better." Boamos sighed, as they vacated the bar before the military police could arrive.

"You're an idiot, cousin," Florica grumbled, her worn shoes clicking dramatically along the sidewalk. "Dr. Welling will be furious with you."

Boamos plopped himself down on a short section of wall in front of a small inn. He opened his violin case and tightened the bow. "He'll live. We were supposed to meet at this here inn before sundown, and since that's where we ended up, it's as I said… All couldn't be better."

Boamos took his violin and played a fast and lively song. One that would bring a stagnant room to dancing in moments. He had no music to reference aside from what he was following in his own mind.

Cyrus watched in wonder as Boamos' fingers flew across the strings effortlessly. He couldn't imagine how good the man was with the instrument when he was sober.

During a pause in the song, Cyrus asked, "How did you get so good?" His tone was almost a whine.

"Started at seven and haven't skipped a day," Boamos shrugged with the instrument resting on his shoulder as if it were part of him.

Cyrus sat on the wall beside Boamos, watching intently as he continued to play his melody. The man was impossibly skilled. He felt the familiar ache of jealousy in his chest.

"Want to learn?" Boamos offered out of nowhere.

"Not particularly," Cyrus answered. That wasn't a lie. He didn't want to learn—he wanted to automatically be as good as Boamos. Better, even.

"You seem interested," Boamos said and continued his tune. "Ain't you immortal or something? I've been at this for twenty three years. I bet you could be some kind of master in a hundred."

Cyrus gave an amused chuckle.

"Please do, Cyrus," Florica grumbled. "Knock Boamos down a few levels."

The idea of being better than Boamos, having all eyes on him and the instrument, was tantalizing. He smirked. "I'll think about it."

Just then, Trovius marched up the hill towards the inn. As Florica suspected, he was none too happy. His glare could have set the three of them ablaze.

"Boamos!" bellowed Trovius.

Boamos ceased playing and smirked. "Oh there you are, doc. We were looking everywhere for you."

"Don't even start with me!" Trovius took Cyrus by the shoulder, turning him away from Boamos. "You're a walking terrible example!"

Florica shrugged from the sidelines in agreement.

"Alright I'll give you that," Boamos admitted with a chuckle.

"Cyrus is young and impressionable, and I won't have you corrupting his innocent mind!"

That made both Cyrus and Boamos laugh.

"In all's fairness, not that much happened," Florica said, kind enough to leave out the bar fight.

Trovius pointed an accusing finger at Boamos. "Your cousin here is interfering with Cyrus' upbringing, and I won't stand for it! He has no knowledge of homunculi or what damage he's possibly already caused!"

Boamos turned to Cyrus, snickering. "Apparently I'm a corrupter of the young and innocent."

"You will not come near Cyrus again, do I make myself clear Boamos!" Trovius roared.

"Sure. In a camp with less than sixty people, who all live within yards of each other, that'll be easy."

"You will do well to keep to your side, then! Come along, Cyrus."

Boamos kept on smirking as he unscrewed his flask to finish his booze.

"And what have I said about your drinking?" Trovius snarled.

"I don't know, I guess I was too drunk to remember."

Trovius threw up his hands in frustration. "Fine! Drink yourself to death for all I care! Just so long as you return to camp this moment, so Cyrus doesn't have to watch your undoing. I trust Florica will see you there!"

"Wait," Cyrus interrupted, unsure what the old alchemist was getting at. "We're not returning to camp?"

Trovius whitened. "Of course not, Cyrus! I don't want you anywhere near it until the military is long gone. You and I will be staying at the inn here in town."

Almost immediately Cyrus revisited his plans to escape. There was no way he could spend any length of time locked in a room with Trovius. By the end of the night, he would have to kill him.

"You're going to drive the poor kid to drinking too," Boamos said.

Trovius once again wheeled around and lectured Boamos, with lots of expressive hand gestures. Boamos retorted every jab with sarcasm, sometimes with violin song. The bickering intensified.

"Good lord, they're both stubborn," Florica sighed, but then shrugged and bounced forward. "But don't worry, you'll get used to it!" She took Cyrus by the shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks.

Cyrus stumbled back, as if she were suddenly a threat. His body seemed built to fight it off like a pathogen.

"Did I scare you?" she asked, a smile on her face. "Sorry. I kiss everyone. Can't help it!"

Cyrus' mouth was dry. Why had the girl's simple touch affected him so catastrophically? It was strange. He was born with a predetermined awareness of the world around him, but _that_ was foreign. It was the same when he first met Shelta. When she reached out and stroked his face to comfort him. He recoiled from the gesture.

Self-criticism, judgment, suspicion, violence, and survival came so naturally, but affection was missing, like an empty void in his hypothetical soul. He felt curious about it, though hated that he did.

Cyrus snapped back to the present when he heard Trovius grumble something that made his insides ice over.

"All of your nonsense, Boamos. And, around poor Cyrus with his condition, at that…"

"What did you just say?" Cyrus said.

That affectively ended the squabble between the two men.

"Your fear of fire," Trovius said, thoughtlessly. "I spoke to Roger about it. He has given me very particular orders in handling it until he arrives, which Boamos is not helping, I shall remind-"

""Y-you told Roger about that?" Cyrus gasped.

Humiliation flooded Cyrus' body. Not only had Trovius told a complete stranger about his weaknesses, but he had the gall to announce it in front of Boamos and Florica, as well. They both likely thought less of him now, all because the damned doctor couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Of course, my dear boy… He has to know about it! He is very learned in the subject of Mind Alchemy. He thought, and I trust his judgment of course, that it was perhaps an implanted memory, put there by your creator. Terrible business. I could not even fathom doing such a thing with my alchemic abilities. The nerve of some people…"

"My creator," Cyrus muttered, his voice, wounded. "They _put_ the fear of fire in my head? Why?"

"The best Roger could figure… The fear was potentially a tool intended to better control you. You are much stronger than us humans, even with our use of alchemy. Perhaps your creator feared you. Are you not lucky I found you, my dear boy? Roger and I would never dream of such a plot... To do such a thing after creating a homunculus. If it is true, then I'm afraid I could never relinquish custody of you to said alchemist."

Trovius would have said more, but Boamos interjected. "Hey doc… Ease up for a second." He saw Cyrus coming undone.

Despite Boamos' attempts, Trovius' words made something snap in Cyrus. A realization hit, which flooded him with a heated fury.

He imagined his creator, before even sketching out the formula for transmuting his homunculus, sitting down, and creating the scene in those tunnels. They made-up the grungy stone walls and echoing screams. The black eyes of the stalker, and the fire he wielded. _His Creator_ produced the memories of pain. Maybe his creator was the man in those tunnels who was burning him alive?

The thought of his faceless creator only boiled more rage within him, making his vision distort in a blurry, reddish film. The rejection stabbed in his pounding chest. His creator must have taken one look at their finished work, than turned away in disgust, revolted by the trash they created. Even after all the work he had put into created the visions of fire in Cyrus' mind, he apparently was not even worth the effort to kill him and retrieve the Stone.

But apparently one person's trash was another prodding, rambling alchemist's shiny treasure.

Damn Trovius, thinking he had some sort of claim over Cyrus' life! The old fool didn't even create him! He and his worthless teacher, Roger had failed to do what Cyrus' real creator did so casually.

All of these people using him for personal gain. Messing with his brain by adding memories of fire… Planning to exploit him, just for the bragging right of having a homunculus as some sort of obedient, dead-eyed pet. His creator. Trovius. Roger. Every other alchemist on the planet could just burn in Hell!

Just as Trovius was about to start another fight with the drunk for interjecting, Cyrus turned from the group and rushed away.

His fury decided for him he would run all the way to Creta, or wherever his creator was hiding. He would rip them apart. A fitting punishment for giving him the torturous memory, and inadvertently forcing him to spend two days with Trovius.

Speaking of the rambling fool, Cyrus heard the old alchemist calling for him, a good deal of concern in his voice. Good. He hoped he worried until the day he died.

Cyrus ran out of town and through the dimming forest. Once the town was far behind him he put all of his energy into an angry, bellowing scream. Everything was a blur for a good while after that. Throwing rocks hard enough they stuck into trees, breaking logs, and using every curse word he somehow knew.

He sprinted, foolishly thinking he could outrun his rage. Dashing at a pace that he knew the alchemist or any human would never be able to match. He was alone. From that night forward, he wanted nothing more to do with alchemists or even humans. The thought of them all seeing him as something so worthless stuck in his gut and threatened to make him scream again.

* * *

 _"You damn human! Don't you look down on m-"_

 _Fire lashes around him and then his screams interrupt his moment of defiance. His flesh melts from his lips and smoke scorches his lungs._

* * *

Cyrus tripped over his own feet. He tumbled to the ground in a tangled heap. He struggled to pull himself out of the flashback, desperately trying to extinguish fire that wasn't there.

There were no flames illuminating the darkness around him. Only the panicked sounds he made as he glanced around for his dark eyed attacker. He was alone. Memory returned that he was running away. He sat on his knees for a while, trembling, wondering why he remembered another piece of that fake memory his creator was so kind to leave for him.

Perhaps, the frantic running triggered it. The sprint almost identical to the speed he ran while trying to lose his fire-wielding stalker in those tunnels. Only fire triggered the memories before… Were they getting worse?

Cyrus spun around at the slightest sounds, wincing in anticipation of fire. He was now too shaken to feel angry, feeling those dark eyes from every shadow. He reminded himself that it wasn't real, that it was just an implanted memory. But, he was suddenly terrified of being alone in the woods with the image of his killer on every twisted tree.

He felt ill and wanted to go back to camp. However, his pride reminded him that was a pathetic way to admit Trovius was right. As if he needed the alchemist's presence for comfort... He forced himself off the ground, and called himself an idiot for tripping. He glanced around, not exactly sure which way he had come. That's right…he was running to Creta. He carried on, though now he was traveling at a slow and quiet walk.

It only took him a brief moment before the realization dawned on him that he had no idea where he was going. It affectively killed his plans to find his creator that night.

Should he then turn back? He wasn't going back to town. He didn't have to sleep after all, and it would give him the opportunity to prove he didn't need anyone's help. Plus, it would give Trovius a whole night to panic over his missing prize. The idea made Cyrus smile.

Eventually his trail ran out, and he came to the shore of a large body of water, surrounded by forest on all sides. Even in the dark, Cyrus was able to make out a small island in the middle of the lake, dotted with large rocks and trees. He assumed it was Kauroy Lake, which Boamos had once mentioned. It was peaceful, sheltered from the rest of the world. The island drew him to it.

He noticed a boat bobbing on the surface. Though ridiculous, subconsciously he figured the fire-wielding adversary wouldn't follow him across the vast body of water.

Cyrus commandeered the small vessel and rowed across the lake. He stepped onto the island's sandy shore, and came to rest under one of the first large trees by the forests edge. Leaning his head back, he watched the ants crawl up and down the trunk, absentmindedly counting the notches of a knife's cut into the wood. He stopped when the blade cuts ended at thirty.

Counting the notches was calming. He no longer felt angry, and the fake memories finally dissolved. He was glad he had found such a place.

Across the vast lake, Cyrus saw movement, and a light caught his eye. Trovius was calling for him, as were a few other men accompanying him. Cyrus remained silent.

Trovius stood on the mainland's shore and stared at the lake for a long while. Cyrus worried he had been seen, and that Trovius would swim across to claim him. But, Trovius didn't do that. Instead, the shadow of the alchemist left the lantern he had been holding by the lakes edge, leaving it to reflect on the water. He then turned and vanished back into the woods with the others.

Cyrus must have dosed off, as his eyes opened and the dark canvas of sky began to lighten slightly. The stars were fading. Trovius' lantern still glowed dimly. Cyrus got in the boat and returned to the mainland. He hesitantly approached the light, relieved to see it was an electric lantern.

Cyrus grudgingly admitted Trovius wasn't all-bad. He was just an oblivious idiot. He started giving Trovius the benefit of the doubt. Even with all of the alchemist's annoying faults, he had never done anything close to what his creator had done. That was somewhat redeeming.

It was interesting, how he went back and forth between distrusting, liking, and then hating Trovius all usually within a day. Cyrus wasn't looking forward to Roger coming and then having two different Trovius' nagging him.

Cyrus clicked off the lantern and made up his mind about going back to the camp. He didn't really care about Trovius worrying. He remembered Boamos and Florica, who he had blown off the night before. That wasn't fair. They had been nothing but nice to him.

Cyrus walked back to the caravan, lantern slung over his shoulder. Still early and mostly dark, most of the gypsies were still asleep in their tents. He spotted Boamos passed out under his wagon. He decided not to wake him. He had probably just gotten to sleep. Instead, Cyrus walked to Shelta's tent, stopping in his tracks when he heard talking inside.

"Do you really think he distrusts me?" Said Trovius, his voice sleep deprived and worried.

"I think he is weary of all alchemists," Shelta explained.

Once again, the woman was right.

"I… appreciate the input, really I do Shelta," Trovius mumbled. "I want to assure Cyrus that he is safe here. When Roger arrives, he will be able to remove the implanted memory, and perhaps we can start over. Until then I still have to find him, so that I can apologize. I didn't know he felt that way."

"That's because you tune things out," Shelta explained light heartedly.

Cyrus was focused on what the doctor had said of his teacher's abilities. Could the memory be removed?

There couldn't have been a better time for Cyrus to saunter in. He pushed the tent's door aside. Shelta gave a welcoming smile and Trovius gasped, relief flooding his face. Cyrus attempted to remain indifferent, acting like he hadn't heard the end of their conversation.

"Sorry, went for a walk and lost track of time," Cyrus explained nonchalantly, taking note of the dark circles under Trovius' eyes.

Trovius looked as though he was about to go off on one of his tirades but stopped himself.

"No trouble, we were just very worried about you," the alchemist explained calmly.

Trovius patted the place at the table next to him, inviting Cyrus to sit. Cyrus did so with a shrug. Shelta left them. "Getting ready to start the day," so she said.

"You don't look good," Cyrus observed, casually.

Trovius gave a smile, rubbing his tired eyes. "I'm afraid I didn't sleep well, dear boy. Nothing some coffee can't fix though."

Cyrus munched on the crackers Shelta left on the table, and neither of them spoke for a while. Then, Trovius cleared his throat. "I um, hope you can forgive my outburst yesterday evening. You see, Boamos and I have a bit of a history. He knows just how to irritate me, though I shouldn't have put you in the middle of it. He is a good man, after all. I see no reason why you can't speak with him if you want to."

' _Had no intention of listening to you anyway_.' Cyrus commented in his mind.

Cyrus just gave an indifferent shrug, "That's fine."

That seemed to cheer Trovius up considerably.

"Cyrus," Trovius began hesitantly, and his sincere tone was uncharacteristic of the doctor. It was not over excited or nagging. It was fatherly. The void within made Cyrus' guard rise. "I want you to know you can tell me anything. I would also like to say, about what your creator may have placed in you, my teacher Roger is skilled with alchemy relating to the mind. He should be able to get rid of it for you. I am telling you this to assure you that Roger is coming here to help. We both want what's best for you. In spite of what your creator has done, I will not let anything happen to you. Whether it is the fear, or if there is anything that is bothering you I am here to listen."

Cyrus didn't know how to respond. His mouth started moving, but he trapped what he was going to say behind his teeth.

Should he tell Trovius how much it hurt him, when he spoke so casually of his fears to Roger? Would that acknowledge the weakness he felt? The images of the men in the woods came to mind as well. The feel of warm blood spray still licking his face. He had done all he could to force that out of his mind, but it was slipping back in.

Cyrus was also worried by his visions. They worsened by the day. He felt the pressure of everything build, threatening to split him apart. Maybe it would be okay to tell Trovius that… His unsettled mind was killing him. What could it hurt? As long as Trovius didn't go blabbing to anyone else.

 _Humiliating….ending up so pathetic like this._ Cyrus' inner voice haunted him, coming out from the shadows just as the visions of fire did, jarring him back to his senses.

Taking a page from Boamos' book, Cyrus beamed a fake smile. "All couldn't be better."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello all! New chapter, and just a warning this one could be considered a little intense, so just a heads up for those who are not into violence. I would love to know what you think, and as always I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Lyda gasped as her head was yanked out of the freezing water basin. She coughed and spewed liquid from her lungs and nose. The four brown uniformed men circled her like a flock of eager vultures.

"Let's try again," Mortimer said.

He was the largest of the men. Lyda focused on his stone face. Past his thin composure, he was boiling. He was no stranger. He hunted her down from the temple. He was there waiting when she returned from the Truth.

Mortimer sighed, and spoke. "You had the Stones when you vanished, and then they were gone when you returned…where are they?"

Lyda's answer was a glare, one that was losing its passion after so many hours.

"Are they with your people once more?"

Nothing.

With a growl, he shoved her head back into the water.

"This is getting us nowhere," a man named Bard huffed at the torture. "If you had just stuck to the plan, Mortimer! They wouldn't have seen us coming. They wouldn't have had time to escape."

Mortimer wasn't listening. He was focusing on the back of the struggling girl's head. His grip on her neck, unyielding.

This girl was going to cost him his rank. Despite what he would ever admit to his men, Mortimer knew Bard was right. She made a fool of him, and they lost the Stones. They had been so close to getting all four of them together. Then they could be used. Now they were gone. Only the brat in his clutches could tell him where they were.

As the bubbles became less frequent he pulled her back out.

"Now's the time to talk, Lyda!" Mortimer hissed. He would not wait for her to catch her breath. "We all know that we can't kill you, but trust me that is not a luxury for you! Where did you send the Stones?"

"I didn't send them anywhere. I left them in the circle," She said, stubbornly.

"The box was empty," He growled.

"Did you check under the box?" She asked. Mortimer slapped her across the face.

Bard finally chimed in. "We know the circle was Xingese in nature. It was used to send them away. If you tell us, we won't have to hunt down anymore of your people to find out."

"Have you tried using the Stone you already stole?" Lyda asked, pride flashing across her pained face. She knew these fools destroyed its container. Without the doll, it would rebound on whoever attempted to use it. She knew this. They still didn't. "I do hope whoever attempted it was high up. Did it kill them right away?"

Mortimer backhanded her out of the chair. Her lip split, spilling blood across the tiled floor.

"Enough of your damn games, Arbus dog!" Mortimer roared. One of the men had to hold him back from killing their only lead. "We need to know where you sent the Stones. AND, you will tell us how to use them once we have all four!"

Lyda took a deep breath before hissing from the floor, "If you wanted to know so badly…You shouldn't have murdered my grandfather."

Mortimer scowled, his eyes burning. A knock came from behind the party, sparing Lyda from his wrath. One of their messengers came through the door. He smiled at the new arrival. Finally, some good news.

"Lyda, we may not need your services after all," Mortimer explained. His tone was eager. "This man is here, because our outside men have been able to track down the Stones."

Lyda's boastful defiance drained from her face.

"Did you think your people were the only ones able to read the Pulse, my dear?" Mortimer snickered then turned to the new comer. "The moment we figured you sent them away, we had our men track them down. I can also assume, any of your people out trying to retrieve the Stones have been dispatched by our men. Dakmon, do we have one of them secured?"

His arrogant air started to dwindle when Dakmon, the messenger, grimaced.

"We had the first location. The Southern region of Amestris, outside the town of Dublith."

"Had?" Mortimer echoed.

"Y-yes. We just received word that our Eastern insider is dead, sir." Dakmon said.

The room went cold. All eyes focused on Mortimer's shaven head.

"Dead?"

"Yes sir…"

"What did he say of the location? Who has the Stone now? Is it in another one of the Arbus dog's superstitious dolls like before?" Mortimer demanded.

"We don't know. He was only able to relay the general location. His cover must have been blown." Dakmon explained.

"Well. Get our secondary boarder team to the last known location!" Mortimer hissed. He had no idea why Dakmon felt the need to waste time by asking permission.

"We did. They were caught by the Amestrian boarder police. We need to assemble a new team… And it may take another month to locate a new safe crossing into the country."

Whatever Mortimer was about to yell out was interrupted by Lyda's snorting laughter. He spun around. The girl was nearly hysterical on the floor.

Despite her laughter, Lyda forced herself to speak. "Your plans, foiled by the country that almost wiped themselves out with their own alchemy!"

Mortimer was seeing red. He shoved past Dakmon to put some distance between himself and the girl, so he didn't kill her.

"Get her out of my sight! I'll handle your incompetence personally!" He roared at Dakmon, who sheepishly followed him away.

Lyda was yanked up to her feet, and her hands bound. Bard shoved her back into her cell.

"You're walking on thin ice. More of your people are going to die, so long as you fail to cooperate." The cell door slammed.

Lyda was left alone once again. She glanced down at her restraints. They had long since taken away her alchemic bangles, leaving her tattooed arms incomplete. Throughout her captivity, she had been unable to use her alchemy… Until then.

Lyda listened hard for movement outside the cell as she used her bleeding lip to draw out the lines on her arms. She was shaky, and had to smear off her work many times and start over. She smiled when the black and red tattooed lines illuminated blue.

Her restraints fell from her wrists and shifted into a crude blade. She grabbed the weapon, and ran to the door of her cell. She sketched out a circle in front of the door. She had to locate their communication's room and send a message. Then, she would destroy the machine so they couldn't read it.

The iron bars crumbled into rust as the blue light faded. Lyda ran from her prison into the hall. As she devised a plan as she ran. Her message for Darbus was carved into the box. She knew her people would find the circle, and her brother would know of the dolls in Amestris.

Truthfully, Lyda had little understanding of the dolls. She recalled the creatures from her childhood quite vividly. They had been with her grandfather until she and Darbus were twelve-years old. They were almost human, but didn't speak unless spoken to. Calm eyes, nearly white skin. Lyda loved them, brushing their hair, dressed them in fancy temple clothes. They were her grandfather's precious Dolls.

Because she knew them so well, grew up with them, she knew the Dolls she revived only a few days before were not the ones her Grandfather made.

They were, without a doubt, the creations of another Alchemist. Despite the theft, they still had the White Stones, and her brother would find them eventually. It didn't matter what they were or to whom they belonged. They were her people's salvation.

What worried her was the Cretan influences in the country were the Dolls now dwelled. Her people could not gain back the Dolls and the Stones if they were intercepted at every pass. She considered possibilities once thought unthinkable.

Her mind returned to her captors, thwarted by the Amestrian Boarder police. Perhaps, she could use the Eastern country to her advantage.

Lyda pressed against the wall, waiting for booted footsteps to pass. The halls were dark, despite the bland white of the walls. She passed windows, and saw the moon bathed cliffs that surrounded the sprawling compound. She was high above the military base, making an escape tricky… Unless she traveled to a lower level.

Her anxiety rose as she got lost in the compound. The alarms were not blaring yet, giving her hope. She had time at her disposal. God's mercy, she found the sign for the communications room. She hid within the shadows outside the unlocked room. Inside, two soldiers complained about a lack of dinner breaks.

They were called away, and a new man would take their post in a little under three minutes. Another lucky break. Would that be enough time? Soon enough, they were gone. A simple transmutation got her through the locked door, and then barred after she was inside.

The switchboards and lighted buttons were intimidating but not foreign. She had been trained adequately enough. After some fiddling, she was able to send a simple telegraph.

Shaking and heart racing, Lyda considered for a final time sending some sort of message to Darbus. She knew it was risky. What if they were able to fix the machine after she destroyed it? What if they pinpointed his location? Darbus knew what she wanted him to know. And, he knew that she loved him. She shook her head to banish her tears.

She realigned the location of the telegraph destination outside of Creta. She dialed up the border police and began tapping viciously. As she did, she divulged her enemy's plots: "Creta spies were trying to infiltrate Amestris. They would attempt it again in a month. Some were already in the military and seeking to fracture the country. One had just been killed among the soldiers in the town called Dublith."

Lyda's hand paused. She blanked on what else to add. She had a few moments more. She now needed to destroy the machine and attempt an escape. Still there were no alarms. Perhaps she could make it out.

Still, she hesitated. Why? What was her higher-self debating that her conscious-self was not yet aware of?

 _'_ _What if the Amestrians could help more?'_

That thought caught her off guard. Should she tell Central Command, the heart of the Amestrian military, of her people's plight? They would be more of a match for Creta's smaller army and weaker alchemy. Would they help her brother find their people's Stones?

She knew their answer would be no. Amestris was violent and conniving with its "allies." If they learned of the powerful Stones within their borders, they would be as much of a threat to her people as the Cretans were.

But, within the past few years, the country had changed. Their bloodthirsty ruler had been dethroned, and new figureheads were taking their seats. Some of those same figureheads had helped the Millosians regain their lost land. That same land was now housing Lyda's people.

What if she did have allies in the East?

Her hands thawed, changing the location from the boarder to Amestris' capital city. She hid her message within codes and alchemic gibberish. Someone skilled enough would be able to decode it. Lyda gritted her teeth. What was the new Führer's name again? Did he know alchemy?

She racked her brain for another name she knew from the alchemic journals. She found the name at last, and sent her message. It felt as if she had attached her hopes and pleas to a flock of birds, and released them to the wind.

It was all she could do. Her attention flew to her next mission. She smeared more blood from her lip to draw a circle to destroy the evidence.

"Forget anything?" Mortimer asked from behind.

Lyda spun around, and saw the man step from his hiding place. She grabbed her weapon from its resting place and swung for his face. He dodged, knocking her against the wall. She gasped, dropping her blade, trying to blink the light from her eyes.

 _'_ _The machine!'_ She stumbled forward and grabbed for her weapon to plunge it into the mechanisms. Mortimer seized her by the wrists. She was disarmed and thrown backwards into the arms of Mortimer's men who came through the door at that moment. She thrashed against their hands, biting, scratching, and twisting to free herself. They had her tangled and trapped.

"I told you she would come here," Mortimer told his men with amusement in his tone. He seemed in a cheerful mood. "Finally got something out of her. I guess we only have to break the code to get it."

Lyda screamed and struggled, her cheeks flushed with rage. They had allowed her to escape. She had been so desperate for help she had fallen for the trap.

Mortimer took his time reviewing the location she had put in, and soon he was laughing. "Seeking help from Amestris, the country you were just mocking? My, you must be desperate."

He read over the coded message. It was tricky but not impossible to crack. His only concern was deciphering it before the Amestrian receiver did.

He glanced the name of the recipient before giving Lyda a locking grin. "Now let's see what you had to say to General Roy Mustang."


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello everyone, happy New Year to all! And with a new year comes a new chapter. I hope everyone enjoys. Please, comment and tell me what you think!_

* * *

A whole week later and Cyrus still sucked at the violin. He took up Boamos' offer for lessons, but refused to have anyone other than Boamos and occasionally Florica hear. Because of this, they were a distance from camp.

"You're not that bad," Boamos said to Cyrus and slapped his shoulder.

Cyrus yelped in pain. Boamos had hit one of the nodes on his back. It could have been an accident but more likely not. Cyrus glared at Boamos' snickering grin past the violin.

Cyrus glanced longingly at Boamos' own instrument case, which contained the red violin that he had seen him play exclusively. He had inherited the old worn one from the drunk's own cluttered cart. Cyrus wanted the red one.

On the plus side, Cyrus did have plenty of time to practice at night. He didn't like sleeping. He always had nightmares about the man and his fire.

Boamos was nursing a hangover while Florica arranged wild flowers. She intended to sell them in town later that day. A car horn honked from the camp. The three glanced up at the trees.

"Dr. Norton, maybe," Florica said.

"Probably," Boamos sighed, sounding bitter. "Who else brings their own car instead of just taking the train like a normal person?"

Back at camp, a boxy new automobile was parked next to Shelta's tent.

Cyrus stiffened, nervous by the alchemist's approach. He thought he had come to terms with the man's arrival but the knot in his stomach disagreed.

'It's to get rid of the memory and move on with your life.' He reminded himself.

The vehicle engine cut off and the door clicked open.

Roger Norton was wearing a dark brown travel coat. He looked about ten years older than Trovius, teetering around sixty-five. He still had most of his hair, but it was all gray, which somewhat blended with his light olive skin. He wore a rather cold expression that lightened when Trovius emerged from the tent.

"Thank you so much for coming here, my dear friend." Trovius said in a warm tone.

"Of course." Roger's voice was a raspy, aged monotone. "You said it was urgent, and I wanted to help in any way I could."

Roger placed his brief case on the grass and exchanged a hug with his former student and colleague. When they broke apart, he immediately picked the case back up. The motion made Cyrus wonder what was inside that made him so protective.

Roger arched a brow over one of his grayish blue eyes. "Plus, I wanted to see this 'homunculus' which you have found."

Just by his tone, Roger was skeptical. Trovius didn't seem put off by it. Perhaps he was used to the man's clinical air after years of working with him. Roger's doubt did bother Cyrus, and he found himself not trusting him right from the start. He tried to suppress the feeling, since he seemed not to trust anyone at first.

"Of course!" Trovius waved Cyrus closer.

Cyrus swallowed. He thought of looking back to Boamos and Florica for support but decided against it. He didn't want to come off looking weak to the new comer. He strolled over, trying to keep his expression neutral. He noticed upon closer inspection not all Roger's hair was gray. There were still a few blond strands holding out stubbornly.

"Cyrus, this is Dr. Roger Norton," Trovius said.

Cyrus nodded at him, staying cold, sizing up the man.

"Good to meet you Cyrus," Roger offered his hand to shake.

Cyrus exchanged the formality. He tried to decide why everyone had said Roger and Trovius were similar. Going by his first impression, they were nothing alike. Trovius was lively, overly excited and, well, friendly. Roger seemed cold and aloof.

"Shall we get started?" Roger asked Trovius, who happily agreed and led both of them towards Shelta's tent.

Once inside, Roger removed his hat and coat and rested them on his briefcase near the table. Cyrus turned about the tent for Shelta. Where was she? He hoped she would be there. Observe things, keep the alchemists from… Getting carried away. She was probably in town. He wished he were there as well.

"How is your work coming?" Trovius took a seat at the table across from Roger.

A smile found its way onto the older man's face at last. It was the first genuine emotion Cyrus saw from the man. "Excellent. In fact, I have just finished my most recent project. She's a mix between an orange tabby and a red fox. Little Jackie, I call her. She's such a well behaved chimera, though she doesn't like her kennel at night. I've found my parrot and monkey mix Jabby giving her jealous glances whenever I give her more attention." Roger chuckled, "I have arranged for them to be looked after by a friend, but I feel bad for little Jackie. She's not used to being locked up for extended periods of time. So, I have asked my friend to let her out more frequently. The other chimeras will keep her company I'm sure."

Cyrus wondered just how many chimeras the man had made. For that matter, just what went into fusing two different animals into one? He imagined it was unpredictable. It was probably the reason Roger had them locked up in cages at night. His created pets might have ripped him apart in his sleep.

Roger soon focused on Cyrus, giving him a smile that was both friendly and skeptical. "You said this young man was a homunculus? Are you sure he isn't a chimera?"

Cyrus didn't appreciate the condescending tone.

Trovius handed Roger the notes he took while studying Cyrus. The gray haired man went over every word. His smile faded. "I don't doubt your abilities, Trovius… But I'll need to see all these results for myself."

"Cyrus, could you show Roger?" Trovius asked.

Cyrus wrinkled his nose a bit, not keen on being touched by the stranger. He knew Trovius had examined him the night he was created, but he had the luxury of being unconscious then.

Cyrus pulled a scalpel from Trovius' open doctor's bag and cut his own hand. The pain didn't last for long. The red regeneration mended the wound.

Roger looked like he had seen a ghost. He had witnessed a phenomenon he had only read about for forty years. He ran a thumb over the area of Cyrus' hand where the wound had been. Covering his mouth, the alchemist looked into Cyrus' face.

"Good lord." Roger breathed. "You truly are a-" the words seemed to fail him. He managed to pull it together enough to finish the thought. "Homunculus! It is such an honor to meet you, truly. I-I- after nearly forty years, I thought I had been chasing a myth, but-" he scanned over Cyrus in amazement. It was as if he was afraid the boy would vanish right in front of his eyes. "But you're real!" he laughed, giddy. "You have to forgive me—I-it's just you are such a rare-alchemic miracle! I've been searching endlessly."

Roger looked like he would start crying, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to Trovius. "My friend, you were right, he is remarkable! Please, tell me everything!"

The men rambled on and did not notice Shelta enter her tent. "Cyrus, can I borrow you for a moment?" She asked, gently. She either needed him to lift something heavy or was giving him an excuse to leave the tent. Either way Cyrus mentally sighed in relief.

"Not now Shelta!" Trovius insisted before Cyrus could escape. "We still have much to discuss. I am sure this task can wait." The women pursed her lips, seeming offended by his sharp tone. As if to spite him, she took a seat next to Cyrus. She then handed him a folded paper casually, her cold air still focused on Trovius.

"Boamos," She explained. Cyrus took the paper and unfolded it. It was a sketch, another of the drunks many skills. The picture was a realistic depiction of Roger's new car rolling off a cliff. Cyrus did little to hide his snorting laugh.

"Have you searched for Cretan alchemists in this area, Trovius?" Roger asked, to engrossed in their discussion to notice Cyrus and Shelta snickering across the table.

"I've exhausted the town's resources. I couldn't find any foreign alchemists in this town or any others nearby," Trovius explained.

"Well, we can assume they will not be returning." Roger was happy to boot out any competition that could take his and Trovius' discovery away. Cyrus mentally rolled his eyes. "I'll also ask…who else knows of Cyrus?"

"No one other than the gypsies in this camp, and I can assure you they would not spread his existence around. I've explained the danger to them," Trovius assured.

"Excellent. Then we should be fine for now."

"Dr. Roger," Shelta said, finally interrupting the conversation on Cyrus' behalf. "We were hoping you could do something about a memory that has been plaguing Cyrus since his birth."

Trovius slapped his head. "Oh yes, of course! I explained it over the phone. The implanted memory from Cyrus' creator."

Roger looked to Cyrus. "I will see what I can do. Could you tell me everything about these memories son?"

Finally, Cyrus felt hopeful. Even so, he was hesitant to share his fear. He felt shameful describing his weakness. "Fire bothers me. Even candles."

He stopped himself there. Admitting it to a stranger was shameful enough. He did not mention the man who controlled the blaze. He convinced himself it wasn't an important detail. In truth, he didn't want to bring the dark eyed man more into reality.

Roger nodded with a sincere look then turned to his briefcase. "That is troubling, I would have to agree. How about we take care of it right now?"

Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief as the man pulled out a large blank sheet of paper and chalk.

"I still can't understand who would do such a thing," Roger began, while drawing out the alchemic symbols. "To place such a terrible fear into anyone, let alone their own creation. This Cretan alchemist seemed to have put a lot of work into you, Cyrus. The alchemist doesn't deserve you."

 _'_ _Who is this guy?'_ Cyrus thought as he studied Roger's aging face. The man's change in personality from academically cold to friendly made it hard to nail down his true character.

Cyrus dropped the thought when Roger set the paper onto the floor. Soon, he'd be rid of the ridiculous shackle on his mind.

Roger rambled on as he prepared. "Implanted memories are actually rather simple to remove. That is, if one knows what they are doing, which I can assure you I do. They are never completely melded to the true memories. The bond does become stronger as time passes. You are a newborn so the bond will break immediately." Roger ordered Cyrus into the middle of the circle he drew. He sat cross-legged in the center, once again feeling nervous. "I promise it won't hurt." Roger added.

Despite his anxiety, Cyrus was excited. He'd be able to be outside with the people of the caravan each night. He'd watch Florica dance and talk to Boamos while sitting only a few feet away from the blazing camp fire.

Roger rested the tips of his fingers on Cyrus' forehead, making him flinch. "Ready?"

Cyrus' answer was confident. "Yes."

Roger's other hand fell onto the circle, and the blue light enveloped him. Just as Roger promised, it wasn't painful. Within a few seconds the light faded, and Cyrus was a bit confused. Were the memories supposed to vanish from his mind in an instant, or would it take time to fade? Possibly the second, because he could still remember it all. Every painstaking detail of those tunnels and the fire that was chasing him.

"Odd…" Roger mumbled, dropping his hands from Cyrus and the circle. "The reaction didn't register the presence of an implanted memory."

"How is that possible? He was just created," Trovius said.

"Well, I have never done the procedure on a homunculus… But the technique should be universal." Roger gave Cyrus a reassuring smile. "I will try again. I'll readjust to get around the flow of his Stone's power."

Roger flipped the paper and re-drew the circle. When he finished, he touched the transmutation circle as he had before. Though unlike before, the alchemic reaction was violent. Sparks of red flared in an explosion of light. Both Cyrus and Roger jumped in surprise.

Shelta ran to Cyrus's side in a panic, checking him over. "Are you alright honey?"

The circle lost its color in an uneven way, as if the energy flow had been torn apart from the burst of power.

"Um, yeah I think so," Cyrus said, looking over his body.

"What happened, Roger?" Trovius asked.

Roger did not respond right away. He stroked his chin and studied the scorched transmutation paper.

"I have no idea." Roger admitted. "I've never had a Stone react in such a way. It was so powerful it canceled out the array…"

Cyrus looked down at his chest. Despite the confusion he was hopeful. He thought he was feeling braver. "Maybe it will fade. Or maybe it made it so I'm not afraid of it anymore?"

"Would you want to test it?" Roger asked.

Cyrus nodded. He wanted to prove to himself that the emotional connection was gone. Shelta and Trovius seemed worried when Roger pulled out a box of matches.

'It's only fire.' Cyrus reminded himself, feeling confident.

Roger struck a match to life, and Cyrus felt the air sucked from his lungs. He was dizzy, as the world seemed to spin. Cyrus fell out of the circle and backed away from the flame as fast as he could.

 _"_ _Now Burn in Hell!"_

Cyrus winced in anticipation. Then Roger blew out the match.

"Well that, as they say, is that," Roger said.

Shelta and Trovius were by Cyrus' side, trying to get his hyperventilating under control. Shelta shushed him gently, rubbing his arms until his trembling faded.

"What does this mean, Roger?" Trovius asked, never looking away from Cyrus.

Roger observed Cyrus, then looked back down at his destroyed circle. "I believe it means Cyrus may be a bit older then what we think. I have a different theory, which could explain the single memory but the lack of any others."

"And that is?" Cyrus asked, indignantly.

"Perhaps the opposite of a memory implant has occurred. Instead, your memories were erased. Often I will have to wipe the memories of a chimera if they are hostile, so they don't recall the fusing process. I find that certain things involved in the procedure, such as tools or sound, can trigger aggression or fear reactions from a memory-wiped Chimera… I like to call the phenomenon an Echoed Memory. This is when the patient in question has had all memories removed, but a traumatic event is strong enough to linger."

So, what Roger was saying was, his creator, or someone, completely erased all but one of his memories? Why would they do that? What had he done to deserve to be almost completely lobotomized? Was it like Roger and his chimeras? Had he become uncontrollable, so they decided to start over and rip his mind apart in the process?

That, of course, still left the alchemist who did this absent. Dropping him off in the woods with no memories before wandering away without him.

Then Cyrus became disturbed. What he saw in his nightmares and waking visions was not an implanted memory. The tunnels were real, and so was the military man… And the fire. It still didn't make sense. How could he have escaped the tunnels? He was cornered. Why was he being chased in the first place? What had he done wrong to deserve something like that?!

If the memory was real… Then that meant the man was still out there, maybe still looking for him. Hunting him down to finish the job.

Cyrus gagged and became lightheaded, overwhelmed by it all. He managed to push the bile and his growing anxiety back down his throat.

"Can the Echoed Memory be removed?" Cyrus blurted. He didn't want to think of that military man and his fire still lurking in the world. He wanted to be rid of it all. He'd rather be ignorant then have to live with it for one day more.

Roger was hesitant to answer. "Possibly. But I'm not sure you would want this."

Cyrus looked at him, wondering what kind of stupid question was that. Of course he wanted to get rid of the memory.

"You can't choose what to erase. You simply get rid of it all. You will lose the recollection of your life here. You would wake up as you did a few weeks ago. We would all be strangers once again and your new name would be gone. This would be unpredictable, since I can't guarantee you would be the same individual you are now." Roger explained.

Cyrus felt cold. It had been such a short period, not even a full two weeks. But so much had happened. He felt as though he had been with the gypsies for years. He had just learned almost everyone's name in camp. He also somewhat got the four strings on the violin.

No more Boamos. No more Florica and the gypsies. No more Shelta or Trovius.

No more Cyrus.

He tried to imagine it all gone.

He went back to that night they found him. No name of his own, surrounded by strangers whom he saw as enemies. He trusted no one then, not even himself. What if he was someone different the second time around? What if he ran away as he intended to on the first night? They would try to tell him what had happened, but Cyrus knew himself. He was stubborn. He wouldn't believe them. If Roger was right and his first life had been ripped from his mind, then he sure as hell didn't want to lose this one.

Cyrus found the strength to move and shook his head. He breathed deep. "No, I don't want that."

"I can help you coup with the fear, dear," Shelta assured him. "It will fade with time." She gave him a comforting smile, one that suggested personal experience. He was too distracted to ask.

Roger was cleaning up the mess. The charred paper disintegrated in his old hands. The Stone's reaction seemed to stump Roger more than the Echoed Memories. He had never seen anything like it before.

So, then on top of everything else, Cyrus wasn't normal. How was it he, a mystical creature that wasn't supposed to even exist, have something even stranger powering him? Roger was one of the few people in the country, maybe even the world, who knew anything about the workings of Homunculi, and even he was stumped.

Cyrus had hoped he would get answers. Even just understand why he was left in the woods in the first place. It seemed, the more they uncovered about him, the less sense it all made.

He was not a newborn, after all. He was a Homunculus of indistinguishable age with a creator who was still unaccounted for… The murderous man from his nightmares was real, and his location was unknown. Finally, his life source was not like any Philosopher's Stone the alchemic expert had ever seen.

With Roger's arrival they uncovered many answers, and yet Cyrus had never been so confused.


	11. Chapter 11

Late that evening, Cyrus was perched in his favorite tree and pouted to himself. Florica was too busy to talk to him. Boamos was, well… Drunk. He was left to ponder everything on his own, still as confused as before.

"Is the higher air helping you, son?" Roger called from the ground.

Cyrus glanced down. The old alchemist was smiling up at him.

"Somewhat," Cyrus replied.

"I find it helps me as well. I suppose, that is one thing this camp has in its favor. The great outdoors." Roger grunted and ascended the tree.

"Don't fall and break a hip, old man." Cyrus mumbled under his breath, bitterly. A branch snapped and he glanced. Roger was already half way up the tree. "Hu, pretty spry for a geezer."

Roger hoisted himself onto the thick branch under Cyrus. "How are you doing? I'm sure all this is a shock for you."

His concern made Cyrus defensive. "I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I'd actually like to apologize." Roger grinned. "I'm absolutely disgusted by the actions of your creator. So, I'll apologies for them. You haven't had a very good first impression of alchemists. I'd like to assure you, not all of us are bad."

Cyrus shrugged. He didn't blame Roger. He just didn't trust him. Not quite. He seemed to have a secret agenda.

"Let me repay you. If there is anything you wish to know about your kind or alchemy, I will do my best to answer it," Roger said.

Cyrus thought on the man's offer. He was surprised when something came to him. "What's it like to preform alchemy?"

Roger stroked his chin. "Well, it's invigorating, understanding the elements of one's world. Then once you understand, you are able to reconfigure it. It has helped me my whole life, and I've done my best to represent the art with passion and respect."

Cyrus sighed and pursed his lips. "Must be nice. Trovius says as a homunculus I can't perform alchemy."

"You know, you are not as limited in alchemy as you think you are." Roger began.

Cyrus raised his eyebrows but didn't speak.

"You yourself are an alchemic reaction. One that is completely self-sustaining and regenerative. Most likely, very soon, you will be able to manipulate the elements in your own body to a certain caliber. This is also alchemy." Roger explained.

"You mean I have a special skill that I don't know about?" The thought made Cyrus bitter. He hated his creator all over again. He could appreciate Roger's apology somewhat.

As if reading Cyrus' mind, Roger spoke up. "Yes. That also means there could be a way to restore your memories."

That grabbed Cyrus' attention. "R-really?"

"Memories are never truly gone. Only covered up. Though it is a long and tedious process, I have been successful a few times. Would this be something you would want?"

Cyrus thought hard. The only memory he had to go by was the fire… But, he was sure not all of his recollections were like that. Would he recall his creator?

Cyrus was curious, in a sick kind of way, what caused the moments in the tunnels. What had he done to provoke that military man in the first place? He wanted to know.

But, was Roger trying to force his hand? Was the old alchemist looking for a way to test the many theories and experiments he had collected over forty years of research?

"Would it affect the memories I have now, in this life?" Cyrus asked, at last.

"Not at all. Your forgotten memories would be added to the collection you have," Roger assured.

"What will it take to get them back?" Cyrus asked.

"A lot of research and patience. I will have to study your body chemistry, so I know where to begin," Roger said.

Cyrus' hand flew to his chest. It felt hot, like touching fire but there was no flame. He gasped.

"What is it, boy? What's wrong?" Roger asked.

Cyrus wasn't able to answer. The burning sensation was inside his chest. His Stone. He closed his eyes, willed the feeling to pass. But the pain grew.

He forgot where he was. The heat pulled him back into those tunnels. The black-eyed man stalked closer. His fire licked Cyrus' face.

Hot wind rushed by him, the branch slipping from under his body. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

The transmutation sparked under Darbus' hands, throwing him backwards into the tiled floor.

His assistant Bin ran to help him him.

"Sir! You're hurt!" Bin took Darbus' hands in his own.

Darbus cast his eyes over the red blisters covering his palms, as if he had grasped hot coals.

They both looked to the flaring transmutation circle. The smoke cleared. Empty air rewarded the effort. Darbus stood with Bin's help. He walked towards the markings. A weeks' worth of work… Worthless. He had studied Lyda's circle so carefully. He worked through sleepless nights to reverse the array and bring back their people's treasures. But he was missing what made the transmutation successful for Lyda.

"What happened?" A woman asked from behind. They turned. Julia, their Milosian host, stood in the dark temple's entrance. She watched as light ebbed out of the array, her blue eyes curious.

"A rebound," Darbus growled.

Julia rolled her eyes. "I see that. But what went wrong? What was the transmutation meant to do?"

"It was meant to reverse my sister's transmutation… Bring back the Stones she sent away to Amestris." He let out a frustrated grunt before kicking the chalk across the decorated tile. "But I'm missing the Stones… And without at least one of them, I can't bring them back."

"We will have to send more people into Amestris," Bin said, his tone sounding defeated. They never heard back from those already there. There were rumors they had been killed.

Julia walked to them, her footsteps slightly uneven. Her one leg heavy with an automail replacement. "Best not risk it again," Julia sat Darbus in a wooden pew and unfolded a cloth in her lap. An array was sewn into it, and she started the process of healing his burned hands. "If the transmutation rebounds and kills you, then who is left to control the Stone's power? You have time. Stay safe within Milos until you are ready to retrieve the Stones yourself. Use judgment."

"Every minute I waste is a minute my sister suffers," Darbus whispered.

Julia took his gaze, her face stony. "My people waited hundreds of years to regain these holy lands. If one of my ancestors had acted without judgment, we may still be lurking in the dark valleys below."

Darbus' eyes fell onto his mended hands. He failed to find his voice to respond.

She continued, "Be patient. Then strike when the time is right. If you act without judgment then you too will die, and then your sister will have no one," Julia paused, delicately. "Give Lyda the joy of hearing of your victory. Either from your mouth after her rescue or from the Golden Shores of paradise."

* * *

 _Falling._

 _Cyrus was lowered by an unseen force. His mind was peaceful. He couldn't recall where he was or why he was there. His mind was at peace… He didn't question._

 _Then he jolted, as if the force controlling his descent came to an abrupt stop._

 _He opened his eyes and saw nothing. He was in darkness. Now, he was worried. His body lifted upwards again. His anxiety began to rise. He was frantic, looking around himself. He saw two others by his side, but they were shrouded in shadow._

 _Light flooded the darkness. He turned his attention skyward. A pair of stone doors floated overhead. Slowly, they opened, let out a blinding light. A figure stood in the threshold, gazing down at him. A small, thin girl. Her face was obscured by shadow, gave her outline a heavenly glow. She reached for him with one hand, the other arm clutching a box for dear life._

 _Cyrus reached, felt a desperate longing for some kind of comfort. She withdrew her hand, and he whimpered at the loss. She opened the box in her arms and pulled out three pure white crystals. They emitted a glow that equaled the light behind the girl._

 _For a brief moment, her face was illuminated. Light skin, golden, auburn hair, and deep, sad eyes. Her face submerged back in shadow as she let the Stones fall. One found its mark in Cyrus' chest. He gasped, tried to remember how to breathe. Electricity surged through him._

 _The girl spoke in a light but somber tone. "It has to be this way."_

 _Three separate doors, one under him, and two under his shadowed companions, thrust open. He spun to face the girl, reached up to her as her own doors began to close._

 _"_ _I'm sorry…" She said._

 _Cyrus fell fast towards his own doors. The last of the girl vanished into darkness before he was consumed by it as well._

* * *

Cyrus awoke with a gasp. Trovius loomed overhead, helping him out of a pile of leaves. Roger had brought him back to consciousness with a transmutation array drawn in the dirt.

"Oh Cyrus my dear boy, are you alright?" Trovius panicked.

Cyrus glanced down at his chest, which no longer burned.

Shelta, Boamos, and a few other men from camp stood by. The men were most likely brought to carry Cyrus back to camp if Roger's array didn't work.

In normal circumstances, Cyrus would have been mortified, but his mind was still foggy. He looked between the two old alchemists and spoke. "I saw her."

"Saw who dear?" Shelta wondered.

"The person who created me."

A silence suspended the air.

"In a memory?" Trovius sounded hopeful. "Did you get them back?"

"What did she look like? Do you know if she is nearby?" Roger asked, seeming a tad nervous.

"Stop it, both of you." Shelta snapped at the men then turned back to Cyrus. "Tell us what you saw, dear."

Cyrus told them everything. The vision of the dark place and the girl who vanished. It was far from his normal memory of the tunnels and fire. But he didn't feel alive in the new memory. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He was recalling the moments before he was born. But, could he comprehend anything before the Stone gave him life? It was almost as if he was already there in that place, and the girl… Brought him back from the dead.

Up until then, Cyrus hated the faceless alchemist that created him. Now that she had a face, he felt guilty. There was desperation in her eyes and so much sadness. A look of hopelessness. The pure fear that reflected on the face of one who knew they were going to die. He must have looked equally distressed when on his knees in the tunnels… Gazing up into the black eyes of that man before his fire descended.

Cyrus was restless for the rest of the night. He lay awake in bed while the others slept. He could not stop thinking about her. The sad girl's face fixed on him, her hand reaching out to hold him. He raised his hand towards the roof of the tent, trying to reach for her.

He wondered what she was like. Perhaps like Shelta, the only mother figure he knew. Kind, understanding, warm.

Cyrus made a fist in the air. He wanted the girl, his mother, so badly the pain was crushing.

Wouldn't it be something if she appeared at the tent's entrance? Her relieved eyes would pool with tears and she'd run to him, desperate to wrap her arms around her son. She'd look into his face, explain through tearful sobs why she had to leave him and why he had lost his memories. She'd assure him they were safe. The man, his fire, and all other threats that followed them were gone. They could be together again.

Cyrus wasn't sure he could leave his new family, so he would convince his mother to stay with the gypsy caravan. She'd be happy to agree. There was only misery back in their home country of Creta, and she wanted him to be happy, after all.

He pushed the thought away, as it was causing him more pain then it was worth. No mother was coming for him, and there was not going to be a tearful reunion.

'Get over yourself,' he growled in his mind, ignoring the ache in his chest.


	12. Chapter 12

Good day all me friends. Sorry for the delay. Job stuff and such…but I am back on track! Hope you enjoy! Please comment, I can't wait to hear what you think!

* * *

"Something like this?" Boamos asked. His tone suggested he was hung over.

Cyrus snatched the sketch and propped himself on one elbow. He had kicked Boamos awake early that morning to draw the woman, his creator, his mother. He feared he would lose the mental image otherwise.

He gazed into the sketch's soulful eyes, traced her flowing, wavy hair with his finger. Cyrus found himself lost in the picture, wishing she were there with him. She was so beautiful; he could not take his eyes away.

"It's perfect," Cyrus said at last.

Cyrus handed over the canteen containing whiskey. He held the drink hostage until Boamos agreed to his demands. Though, he had allowed a few sips, so the drunks' shaking hands wouldn't affect the image.

"Glad I could help," Boamos gulped the rest of his drink and passed out soon after.

He folded the picture and placed it in a pocket inside the trench coat Shelta loaned him. He intended to find a better place for it later so it wouldn't wrinkle.

Cyrus wandered the camp until the nocturnal creatures silenced and the sky lightened. The roar of Roger's automobile cut through the morning and Cyrus turned. In truth, he had been waiting for him. Roger was going into town to call a colleague in Creta, and Cyrus wanted to go too.

"Good morning, son." Roger exited the vehicle with a cheerful grin. "Any new visions?"

"No, I didn't sleep." Cyrus said.

"I'm sure more will come in time." Roger placed his suitcase, as well as an armful of small boxes at his feet. "Or, until I find a way to bring them back myself."

"Thank you, Dr. Norton," Cyrus said sweetly.

The usage of title seemed to flatter Roger. Cyrus suppressed a smile. The two alchemists were definitely easy to manipulate. He wondered if they were aware of their character flaws.

Shelta and Trovius emerged from their tents seeming well rested. Their conversation roused Boamos with a start. The drunk made his way over, flattening his mess of black hair with a woozy hand.

"What do you people have against sleep?" Boamos asked with a yawn.

Trovius growled. "I'm sure it wouldn't bother you if you attempted to go to bed at a decent hour."

Tuning the advice out completely, Boamos turned a smile to the boxes at Roger's feet. "Looks like some new goods there Doc. Still living on the military's dime?"

That earned a warning glare from Trovius. Cyrus raised an eyebrow. Had Roger been a State Alchemist?

Roger answered when he noted Cyrus' confused expression. "Not officially. I'm retired, if you'll recall."

"Well I'm sure that pension sure comes in handy." Boamos added.

Roger didn't seem put off by the comment as Trovius was. In fact, he seemed underwhelmed by Boamos' cynicism.

"These are actually for you, Cyrus." Roger said. He bent down to retrieve the boxes.

Cyrus opened the boxes, and inside he found an assortment of new clothes. Black pants and a fresh long-sleeved white shirt with a dark vest to match. In the smaller box he found a new pair of machine made dark, brown shoes.

Boamos gave the clothes an odd look. He looked to Cyrus and mouthed, 'He's buttering you up.'

Cyrus shrugged. If the guy wanted to spend his pension on things for him, he wouldn't complain. The attention fed the annoying voice in his head, so he figured it wouldn't hurt to indulge the feeling.

Still smiling, Roger continued. "Now you won't have to wear old garments like you are."

" _Old_ garments?" Shelta spit, and growled at Roger. "They served my grandfather Cyrus just fine." Boamos snickered behind her at the sudden awkward turn the conversation had taken.

"My apologies, I meant no disrespect, of course," Roger replied coolly. Then his attention found Cyrus again. "Shall we go, Cyrus?" Roger asked.

That surprised Cyrus. Roger was inviting him along? He thought he would have to manipulate his way into going.

"My friend," Trovius interjected, and Cyrus' face soured at his worried and condescending tone. "Should we consider your Cretan colleague's words before sharing them with Cyrus?"

 _'_ _Old idiot still thinks he's my keeper, that's funny.'_ Cyrus mentally noted.

Roger gave Cyrus' shoulder a confident pat. "Oh, I'm sure he can handle it. Seldom have I met one who is so resilient."

Cyrus couldn't hold back his flattered smile.

* * *

In town, Florica sold flower bundles while Boamos played his crimson violin. Cyrus sat on the wall beside them, messing with the hem of his new shirt. Roger stood in a nearby phone booth, talking to his Cretan colleague. Cyrus tried to listen over the violin song, but it was pointless. Roger was speaking Cretan. Cyrus wondered why the language didn't sound familiar. He was supposed to be from Creta. Why was he reborn speaking Amestrian? It frustrated him to no end.

"Will they have to go to Creta to try and find this woman?" Florica asked, between customers.

"If Roger can find her," Cyrus said. "I guess we'll have to wing it and go there, yeah."

"I hear Creta can be dangerous in places." She warned, as if worried about them going there.

"Most of the place is a waste land," Boamos paused his playing to rosin up his bow and take a sip of whiskey. "Creta's been ripping away at itself for so long… Something about it being a holy land or crap like that. Of course, all holy lands like Ishval and Xerxes are barren, dangerous and over exaggerated. But people still fight to the damn death for them."

Cyrus didn't care. He was sure he was strong enough to fight through whatever would be in the way. That was unless the Amestrian fire soldier was still there.

Roger hung up the phone and approached the group. "May I borrow Cyrus from the two of you? We have much to discuss. I already passed it by Trovius, so our absences won't worry him."

Cyrus was hopeful. He assumed Roger had learned something important, but didn't want to repeat it in front of Trovius. That was understandable. Roger, of all people, knew how easily excitable Trovius was.

Cyrus climbed into the passenger side of Roger's automobile. Roger cranked the engine and the car rolled forward. "We're going farther into town. I should want to buy you breakfast and perhaps more new clothes."

Cyrus didn't complain.

"My Cretan colleague is a very learned man, studying the many tribes of Creta for twenty years now. I described to him the circle you were found in. I also mentioned the White Stones, and he was confident he knew the origins of both.

My assumption was correct of your circle. It is Xingese. You were not created there at the circle. Somehow, you were sent there."

"But why wouldn't she, my mother, come here with me?" Cyrus asked, not doing a very good job of hiding the hurt tone in his voice.

Roger squinted hard out the windshield, pondering this. "Well, I've never heard of whole people transported vast distances using alchemy before. It must have taken immense power to transfer you alone. The power she had available may have only allowed for one, though…"

"There were two others with me, though."

"So that may not be it."

There was silence. Then Cyrus asked. "Can she bring me back?"

"Perhaps. You said you felt your Stone. When I attempted to awaken you with my own alchemy there was interference. Someone else's alchemy was at work."

Cyrus spoke before he could stop himself. "That must have been my mother!"

"There might be a way for me to locate the source of her alchemy," Roger added.

"How?" Cyrus asked. His face was eager.

"A myth exists pertaining to four powerful White Stones of alchemic origin. It belongs to a tribe called the Arbus people. They hailed from Adamos, a small valley upstream of the Iranlion River and South East of the Cretan Capital. These people were led by a man named Morniza Arbomosie, a brilliant alchemist."

"Those Cretan men in the woods mentioned him!" Cyrus exclaimed. Roger already knew this, but Cyrus couldn't contain his excitement.

"Indeed. Morniza was not the creator of those powerful Stones, but he was the caretaker. He was the creator of four homunculi that housed them though. Flask Dolls, Cretans call your kind. These beings were treasured by the Arbus people, and Morniza's family."

Cyrus' pulse quickened. "When can we go there?"

Roger hesitated, his face apologetic. "I'm afraid we are unable to travel there at the moment. The Cretan Government forcefully annexed Adamos a few weeks ago. Even before this, the Arbus people were attacked in a similar fashion ten years ago. The Homunculi were destroyed, and one of their Stones was stolen. Also…I hate to inform you, but Morniza did not survive the raid."

Cyrus did not speak for a time. He focused out the window at the blur of the street.

Roger's hand rested on Cyrus' shoulder. A means of comforting him, no doubt. Unlike what he would have done with Trovius, Cyrus didn't shake him away.

"The rest of the tribe went into hiding. Morniza did have surviving grandchildren. A young man and woman who inherited the tribe, and the remaining three Stones.

Only a few weeks back the Tribe was attacked again and the remaining Stones vanished. The Arbus people and the Cretans do not have them."

"Morniza's Granddaughter, my mother," Cyrus muttered, light returning to his eyes. "She revived me. And the other two Homunculi… She must have sent us away from the attack."

So then he had two creators… An odd sort of thing to understand. He supposed that was how humans were.

Cyrus began to piece together why his mind was barren. He was killed in the first raid alongside his first creator, Morniza. The man with the fire must have been the one to kill him. He was after Cyrus' Stone. But, that didn't account for why he was wearing an Amestrian military uniform… The man should have been part of the Cretan military.

Cyrus shook his head in dismay. "Morniza's granddaughter couldn't recover my memories from before I..." He had so many conflicting emotions. Sadness for Morniza's death, longing for his mother. "Are members of the Arbus tribe still alive?"

"There are survivors in Milos. It is a city belonging to the Milosians closer to the Western boarder of Amestris. If the grandchildren of Morniza are anywhere, it would be there. Alas, I don't have connections within this city, and outside access has been barred due to the circumstances. But trust me Cyrus, I will exhaust my resources to locate them there."

Cyrus nodded, having no choice but to trust Roger. He only hoped that his mother was safe in Milos.

The car rolled to a stop on the side of the road, and Roger cleared his throat. "I hope that wasn't too much for you to take, Cyrus."

"No, I want to know everything. Trovius keeps too much stuff from me," Cyrus said.

"You seem saddened, son. How about we try something fun."

Cyrus sniffed. "Like what?"

Roger gave him a confident smile. "My old eyes are getting tired. How about you drive the rest of the way."

Cyrus laughed, but stopped when he realized Roger was serious. He had never driven a car before. But, he shrugged and they switched seats. He did appreciate Roger's faith in him. He couldn't imagine Trovius allowing him behind the wheel of an automobile.

He turned on the ignition and his hand put it into gear without thinking. Pulling back onto the road, Cyrus couldn't hold back a nerves and confused laugh. Unlike the violin, he somehow knew what he was doing.

"It seems your creator taught you how at some point." Roger chuckled. "Repetitive tasks tend to linger even if the memory of learning them is gone. I am confident your Stone's abilities will reveal themselves shortly."

Cyrus smiled. He hoped Roger intended to stay.

* * *

The sun was an hour away from setting when Cyrus parked the car behind Shelta's tent. Everyone in camp was in the center of the caravan, dancing and carrying on to the tune of Boamos' violin.

The fire was smoking but otherwise extinguished. This was unusual, but whatever the reason, Cyrus was grateful.

"There you are, Cyrus!" Florica pulled him to the circle. "It's the festival, did you forget? I guess it worked out, we got all the cooking done before you got back."

Cyrus took a seat next to Shelta and Roger, only acknowledging Trovius with a grumble. Florica skipped off, threatening to drag him into the dance later. Cyrus laughed it off. He had absolutely no intention of dancing and making an idiot of himself in front of everyone.

Cyrus took the opportunity to blab Shelta's ear off about what they had learned. "She was trying to bring me back!" Cyrus explained. He ignored the sad expression Trovius was failing to conceal. "When I felt my Stone. That was my mother trying to bring me home!"

Shelta seemed worried by the notion. "Then why did it hurt so terribly?"

Roger was quick to give his opinion. "The same reason why she did not come here herself. There was not enough power. The transmutation failed."

Cyrus wanted to convince Shelta of this. For some reason he wanted to defend the actions of his mother to his family. But, his focus soon shifted to Florica.

Florica and Boamos were preforming together. He had never seen her dance, and she was extraordinary. Her flowery dress folded and swayed with each twirl. Her feet and hands were in perfect rhythm with the fast violin's song.

Boamos didn't seem quite as drunk as he usually was. The uneven clapping of the crowd did not disturb his concentration. It was as if nothing but the two of them existed.

How in the world was Florica so wondrously skilled? Cyrus could not be caught dancing next to her now. It would destroy how everyone saw him. For them to realize he was scared of fire and untalented…

Even Roger seemed impressed. He no longer looked at Cyrus.

Electricity crept up Cyrus' fingers, his skin burned brown as it went. Then red light sparked wildly out of his hand. He yelped in surprise as he tried to push the light away as it pricked up his wrist. Finally he stifled it, shoving the hand under his other arm, smothering it in the folds of his clothes.

"What the hell was that?" he breathed, terrified to pull his hand out.

This ground the festivities to a halt. Boamos and Florica froze and gazed with concern.

Roger situated himself in front of him. He placed his briefcase to the side, offering out his hand. "Calm down Cyrus, let me see."

Cyrus' eyes widened. His iron grip wouldn't let go of the infected hand. What if the light started to spread again?

"Trust me." He added.

Cyrus swallowed. Slowly, he surrendered the hand from under his shirt. The black half glove he was born with was gone. His skin was now a light brown—a stark contrast to the porcelain white skin of his upper arm.

Roger's lips pursed as he examined. Cyrus wished he could hear his internal monologue.

"What were you thinking, Cyrus?" He asked, his gaze lifting.

"I-I I don't…know," he lied.

He stole a glance at Florica. She stood stiffly, her hands covered her mouth in worry. He had been thinking of her dance, and how much her talent and beauty had captivated the crowd. He was thinking of how much he wanted that too.

"Think of it again," Roger encouraged. "Don't fight it this time. Trust yourself."

Cyrus took a deep breath, once again looked to Florica, her face youthful and glowing in the setting sun's light.

The red sparks returned. Cyrus tried to tune out his panic. He closed his eyes and focused his mind onto the dance. The feelings. Florica.

The tingling light swept over every inch of his being. The sparking sounds extinguished. He felt different, and soon forced himself to look.

His eyes found his trembling hands. His skin was darker, his fingers smaller and delicate. He grabbed for a piece of silverware on the plate in front of him and gazed in shock at the face gazing back. It was Florica. Her bright eyes wide with amazement and pink lips quaveringly agape.

He had become her.

The camp went mute, and every pair of eyes in the circle burned holes in his borrowed skin.

The almost unyielding silence shattered when Boamos laughed. "Holy shit."

"You can transmute your form!" Roger said, his wrinkled smile widening. Trovius wore a similar grin. "Your Stone can manipulate the atoms in your body, reconfiguring them. Son, you can shape shift!"

Cyrus felt his cheeks warming behind the new face from all the sudden attention.

The most impressed seemed to be Florica. She was on her knees staring at her doppelganger. "That's amazing! How did you even do that? It doesn't hurt right?" She poked at his skin.

Shelta seemed to share Florica's concern.

It didn't hurt, but it was a strange feeling. Like small charged needles running over his skin. Though it was different, the feeling felt somehow familiar.

"Not really," he answered, but startled when he heard Florica's voice instead of his own. He could mimic voices too?

"Do me next." Boamos offered light-heartedly.

The comment earned a glare from Shelta, who seemed more concerned than impressed.

Cyrus answered Boamos' request in Florica's voice, "I doubt I can mimic the reek of booze."

Boamos and a few others laughed. It distracted from the fact Cyrus still didn't fully grasp how he was able to change his shape in the first place.

"Good work Cyrus," Trovius praised.

"Dr. Norton," Shelta muttered nervously. "Will he be able to change back?"

Cyrus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to picture his old face. Nothing happened. The pain in his chest throbbed…

"Don't force it," Roger said. "Try to feel it."

His mind got back on track, and he shuttered when the electrical feeling crept over his skin. He opened his eyes, looking down at his hands and saw his familiar pale skin once more. Everyone was once again looking on in shocked amazement.

Shelta looked relieved, and the mood lightened once again. The ten-year-old girl who had been so scared of him when he first arrived was sitting by him.

"How many people can you change into? What about animals?" her eyes glowed with curiosity.

"The Aqua Vitae," Trovius realized, turning to Roger.

"Shifting like the tides," Roger finished.

The markings making up his back and forehead finally seemed to make sense to the two alchemists. Everyone was talking at once, and it was all revolved around him.

 _"_ _So that's your real form? How disgusting."_

Cyrus froze. The voice hadn't belonged to anyone in camp, it had been in his head. But it wasn't his own voice. He thought of the tunnels and the pain of his death. Humiliation before it all went black.

The alchemists prattled on between themselves. The voices around him blurred together, and he was lost in his head. He got the attention he had been longing for, but he was not enjoying it. His mind went fuzzy, echoing from a distant and blurry memory.

* * *

Grinding gears and shifting plates drowned out a blood-curdling scream. Then the screaming stopped, and there was only the hum of machinery once more. Cyrus struggled to see in the fog, but soon found a figure, slow in their movements. Decrepit. Haunting.

Mechanically, the figure held up an arm. A wine glass was poised between wrinkled fingers. He heard a slow voice.

"I propose a toast, my children. I shall drink to the Promised Day, and to your undying loyalty."

* * *

"Are you okay?" Boamos asked.

Cyrus snapped back to reality. Both Boamos and Florica looked concerned. Roger and Trovius seemed none the wiser, still too caught up in his remarkable shapeshifting ability. Cyrus nodded, shaking off the cold feeling in his gut.

There was something significant about what he had just remembered, but he vowed to himself that he would never share it with anyone. Not Roger. Not Trovius. Not even Boamos. It was strange. He hadn't seen his mother, the man with the fire, or the White Stones. The memory was so different from the rest that it made him wonder what the hell had happened in his former life. Who had the haunting voice belonged to? Who was screaming and dying? Why was he just standing by and watching?

Strangest of all, what was the "Promised Day" and why did it scare him?


	13. Chapter 13

Cyrus' eye twitched as he glared at a tree in the woods. He had been sitting cross-legged in the same spot for hours, willing his body to shift as it had the night before. So far, his attempts failed. He remained in his thin, pale, fuming form. Did he have to be looking at a target to get the ability to work?

Cyrus growled and kicked a large rock against the tree. The sun was beginning to set. He ought to return to camp before people came looking for him. The distant campfire glowed through the silhouettes of trees. Cyrus shuttered and started a path to the back of the camp to avoid the blazing logs.

He came up onto Shelta's tent, but stopped when he heard Trovius and Roger talking within. There was a strange tension in their conversation. Something told him not to barge in. He was about to turn away, go see what Boamos was doing. He froze in place when he heard his name.

"So then that man intended to kill Cyrus," Trovius gasped.

They were speaking of the man in the woods, Cyrus knew. The Cretan spy whose alchemic power almost touched him.

Roger's monotone voice twisted with worry. "Yes. His array was a destabilizer. It was designed to interrupt the Stone's power and destroy him. I recognized it from similar alchemic research by Dr. Marcoh. The array the man had was almost identical."

"Why?" Trovius asked.

Cyrus was now pressed to the canvas of the tent, straining to listen.

"I couldn't even guess. If this Cretan man wanted the Stone within Cyrus, the array would have destroyed the Stone, as well. Unless... I can assume he knew more than we do about the strange properties of the Stone. He must have assumed it was strong enough to regenerate on its own. I wish I knew more of its origins." Roger sounded frustrated. "Either way we still can't ignore the threat of our own military. The creation of homunculi has been deemed illegal. We need to keep Cyrus hidden from snooping Amestrian soldiers at all costs."

"You were part of the alchemic research branch of the military, Roger! If we are caught before we move the caravan, you can explain. Cyrus wasn't created here, he…" Trovius trailed off.

"Yes, I worked between Laboratories 1, 2, and 3 for almost thirty years. That is why I know there will be no 'explaining.' I have seen the experiments done. Human and animal chimeras. Philosopher's Stone experimentation. I do not want Cyrus trapped in one of those labs. He may not be involved with what happened in this country, but that won't matter to military command."

"Do you think it is all connected?" Trovius asked. "You don't think the Homunculi of Creta have anything to do with those the State Alchemists defeated here… Do you?"

"I have considered this. It is odd so many homunculi exist so close to together. They could be connected somehow."

"So what does this mean for Cyrus?"

"It's too early to say. Rest assured, I will exhaust all my resources and more in pursuit of the truth. We can restore his memory. All it will take is time. With his memories, we will get answers, most definitely." Roger said.

Cyrus felt himself smiling. With his memories, he'd know the name of his mother. He'd understand the haunting memory of his final moments bathed in fire.

Trovius sighed. "I am glad. He is such a confused child. I have to admit, I was rather blind to it for the past few weeks, but I know I can help him."

"You have done right by him, Trovius." Roger assured. "If we are being honest... After admitting to myself you had found a homunculus, I was worried you wouldn't be able to handle the task. I was wrong, of course. It might have been my jealously talking."

They both had a good laugh and Cyrus found himself rolling his eyes.

There was a pause in the conversation before Roger cleared his throat. "Trovius… I was actually hoping to ask a rather personal question… Relating to Cyrus, that is."

"Yes. Yes of course, go on."

Cyrus leaned closer to the tent shivering with curiosity.

"What kind of progress do you think he will make staying here with this caravan? I assume you have no intention of leaving?"

"Well, it is a rather unstable living situation, I'll grant you that. But seeing the world might spark some sort of memory," Trovius said.

Roger gave a bit of a sighing grunt, seeming to be calculating his next words. "Yes… I guess what I was asking…" He paused again, making Cyrus fidget. "I have to say, I've grown rather fond of him in the short time I've known him. I'd like to have more time to study him, and of course get to know him more."

"I'm sure he would like the same thing. Cyrus seems to think very fondly of you." Trovius chuckled.

"What I was hoping for, in all honesty Trovius, would be for him to return to East City with me. He will be safe, and my resources will be able to provide him with what he needs… More than a traveling gypsy camp could. Resources are limited out here."

This caught Cyrus off guard. _'He wants me to return to the city with him?'_ Roger never mentioned that when they talked. Had he thought of it that moment? No, his tone sounded as if he had planned to ask Trovius for a while.

"I-I'm afraid, I don't know how to respond to that, my friend." Trovius said. "As I stated, he's very confused, and he's grown rather attached to the people here… And they are to him."

"I… Can appreciate that … And I understand your position, since you were the one who found him." the change of Roger's tone became low and unnerving. "Can I ask Trovius, how many Philosopher's Stones do you have left?"

"I have three, but one is breaking and the others are very weak." Trovius answered.

The shadow of Roger moved across the canvas, and Cyrus heard the click of a brief case unlatching. Then Trovius gasped.

"I have ten here with me." Roger spoke in a near whisper.

This jarred Cyrus. Now he knew why Roger guarded his briefcase with his life. _'How did he get so many Philosopher's Stones?!'_ Was he really that connected in the military? Why did he bring them with him?

"I will give them to you... In exchange for Cyrus," Roger said.

There was a strange jab in Cyrus' chest that he had never felt before... What was it he was feeling? Hurt? Betrayed? Worst of all, he was humiliated. Dr. Roger was trying to buy him! Was that all he was to the man, just something to be traded? Would he be locked in a cage like his many chimeras, dissected, treated like property?

He trusted Roger! The man seemed to understand everything he was going through. Was he lying about it all to win him over? Cyrus thought Roger was manipulated by flattery and pretty words. All the while Roger was manipulating him. And like a stupid, desperate child seeking approval, he fell for it.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Why wasn't Trovius saying anything?

"I don't believe this is even close to what he is worth, so I will also add 500,000 cenz to this." Roger continued.

Cyrus sank to the ground.

"5-500,000 cenz, Roger?" Trovius stuttered.

"You underestimate how much I want that homunculus." Roger clarified. "This has been my life for years, you know that. I assure you I will take care of the boy. Cyrus'll want for nothing."

As Trovius fell back into silence, Cyrus wanted to cry. Was Trovius considering it? Could he trust no one? Was every human an enemy? No, that could not be. Shelta would never think of him in such a way. Boamos had never seen him as anything but an equal from the moment they met. Was it alchemists, then? That thought led Cyrus down an even darker road.

Was he in danger? As a homunculus he was stronger, but these two alchemists knew more about his body chemistry then he did. That included weaknesses. How easily could they incapacitate him? Cyrus looked to the woods. He could run as he intended the first night he was "born." There was nothing stopping him now that he knew he was no longer safe with these people.

He thought of Boamos, Florica, and Shelta. He knew the gypsies meant him no harm. They didn't care he was a homunculus, and he didn't want to leave them.

Cyrus's mind raced. Gripping his head in his hands, he felt as though his whole world was about to explode.

Then, Trovius finally spoke. "Only because we are such good friends, do I know your intentions are good. But, Cyrus is not for sale."

"But Trovius, my good man—"

"Cyrus is a living, breathing individual and I do not own him."

The spinning conflict in Cyrus's mind screeched to a halt.

"Now, if he would want to go with you on his own accord… I would be sad, but I wouldn't stop him. I have no doubt you would look after him very well, but I'd worry about him. I don't want to trouble him so early in life by changing to many things."

Roger was quiet, pondering his next thought. "I understand." He said flatly, the sound of the Philosopher's Stones being locked back into his briefcase. "But keep in mind, living in a traveling camp, things will always be changing."

Trovius chuckled, almost in agreement. "Yes, I never said I wasn't worried about him staying here. But I've grown rather fond of him over the past few weeks. It is selfish of me, but I want him to remain with me until he is ready to go himself."

Cyrus pondered the old alchemist's words. Trovius felt this way about a homunculus who had so many issues? He turned down ten Philosopher's Stones and a fortune in order to keep him in the camp?

Roger snickered. "I will say, I am very envious of this bond you share with him, Trovius. Because of this, you know I will not be making myself scarce."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"You should be careful though, my old friend." Roger's tone turned serious again. "Alchemists that happen across him will make you similar offers. I can't guarantee they will react as well as I have when you turn them down."

"I will keep alert." Trovius said. "Whatever I have to do to keep Cyrus safe."

"I'm always a phone call away." Roger reminded. "I do expect updates, weekly."

They both agreed and soon moved on to other topics. But Cyrus couldn't focus on the conversation anymore. His mind was reeling. He wasn't in danger, he was sure of that, but he was confused.

He couldn't face either of them. He had to think.

* * *

"He tried to buy you?" Boamos scoffed in disgust.

The two sat at the edge of Kauroy Lake the following day. Boamos had been a tad too drunk the previous night to observe the problem. Cyrus waited for him to sober up before they snuck away.

Cyrus' bare feet swayed in the water, startling small fish. He watched Boamos skip stones across the surface of the lake. It helped him think, so he claimed. He was visibly enraged over the whole thing.

"What an idiot." Boamos said in a bitter tone.

"You got to admit, though. For ten stones and 500,000 cenz, it isn't a bad deal." Cyrus joked, trying to hide how upset he was over the whole situation.

Boamos paused to skip another stone. It jumped seven times before it sank. "Please tell me Trovius called him out on that whole stupid thing?"

"Well… He said I wasn't for sale." Cyrus replied.

"Good. The old man finally gets a back bone."

"Do you think everything Roger said to me was a lie?" Cyrus asked. He sounded more panicked then he'd hoped.

"Well, I'm never one to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. My gut tells me no. That doesn't mean he wasn't thinking about it the whole time he was here. Otherwise why bring all those stones? Sorry, that doesn't help his case much."

"What should I say to him when I see him again? What do I do?"

"Do what the old Cyrus would," Boamos said. "Shelta's grandfather. He didn't give a damn what anyone thought. Say what's exactly on your mind. Don't sugar coat it."

The conversation died when the bushes rustled and Roger called out to Cyrus. "There you are, son. Trovius and I have been looking for you."

Cyrus didn't make eye contact. He kept his face indifferent no matter how his skin crawled.

"How has your shape shifting been? Any progress?" Roger asked.

"Fine." Was all Cyrus said.

Roger didn't respond right away. He seemed taken back by the cold response.

"Cyrus, I was actually hoping to talk to you about something important."

"Shoot."

Roger cleared his throat, and then out of the corner of his eyes Cyrus saw Roger flashing a charming smile. "How would you like to travel back to East City with me?"

"Nah." He answered immediately.

The abrupt answer got the desired effect. Roger was stunned into silence. Then he recovered, hiding his hurt with a chuckle. "You would know what is best for you. I respect that…You know I spoke to Trovius and he thinks its best if you stay too."

Roger was about to walk away. Cyrus decided to take Boamos' advice. "Maybe 500,000 Cezs wasn't good enough for him. Try higher next time."

Roger's foot fall stopped, and Cyrus heard him give a sigh. "So, you heard that?"

"I understand. I'm great, so I can't blame you for trying." Cyrus inspected his nails, finding the dirt under them more interesting than the old alchemist. "Also, don't worry about keeping me from the military. I am perfectly capable of watching my own back."

Roger laughed, and Cyrus glared up from his hand. Roger was smiling, but his eyes were sorrowful. "I get it, I'm a fool. You are correct Cyrus. You are more than spectacular. I made such an inappropriate decision, because I was desperate for a chance to know you. I wanted everything. Learn what your existence meant in this world. Protect you from those from Creta or the prying eyes of the military. Most of all, see the fulfilled life of a being I have failed to create in over forty years. I have damaged this not only for myself. I have cast doubt onto your young mind. I am sorry."

Cyrus watched Roger's shamed face traced with deep frowning wrinkles.

"Seems like a waste of forty years," Cyrus said.

Now Roger was laughing, and it wasn't lined with pain, but rather true amusement. "It probably was a waste of time…but I'm stubborn. As a young alchemist I was told it was impossible. I refused to accept that.

That's why the military fears your kind. You are the impossible. I am merely proud, and I thank you for being here, for existing beyond unmanageable odds. If you have chosen to stay with Trovius, then it is the right choice. I trust him, and I trust you."

Roger gave Cyrus a final smile. He reached his hand out to give Cyrus a pat on the shoulder but quickly retracted. He turned, heading back into the woods to return to camp. He would be leaving before the caravan did.

Cyrus' face settled into a scowl. He didn't know how to feel. That conversation had not been as satisfying as it had been in his head all morning.

Roger was instead blatantly honest. Beyond all reason Cyrus was feeling conflicted for choosing to stay with Trovius. Cyrus roared and threw one of the skipping stones into the lake. It rained down droplets of water onto the once calm surface.

"What's your problem, you won," Boamos said.

"I should have gone with him."

"What was so important you would need to be with that idiot?" Boamos asked.

Cyrus sighed, falling back into the grass. "He may have had answers."

Boamos raised an eye brow, his only means of questioning the comment.

"They were worried my creation and those Cretan people are somehow connected to the country wide transmutation circle. For all my worthless mind knows, it is… If only I could ask one of the famous alchemists… I just want to know."

"You still may have a chance." Boamos said with a shrug.

Cyrus turned to give his a confused look.

"After we leave here, our next stop is Resembool. That's the home town of the Fullmetal Alchemist."


	14. Chapter 14

Hello all! What an intermission…but I hope I can explain! I got the most awesome opportunity to go to Japan for two months to visit a friend and see the many sights. I of course took the opportunity to see the Fullmetal Alchemist Art Expo in Tokyo before I headed home for the States. It had so much of Hiromu Arakawa's original works from the Manga, comic panels and awesome stuff never seen before. It was amazing, and if anyone has the opportunity I hope you can do the same! I couldn't wait to return home so I could update, because I have never had a better source of inspiration then the genius of Arakawa herself.

So with no further ado, here is the next chapter, with the next one close on the way! As always, please tell me what you think, and enjoy!

* * *

It was a three-day journey to Resembool, and Cyrus was getting cagy. He made a game of jumping between the wagons as they trundled along. Leaping and grappling was tricky, and Cyrus fell on his back a few times. But it was thrilling, and allowed him to socialize with everyone in the caravan. Trovius' terrified yelps of "pick a wagon and stay put!" did little to deter him.

In fact, Cyrus' wagon-hopping was how he met Florica's family. Her mother was a quiet woman, cold and stoic, rarely giving more than two or three word answers to questions. How she could have brought up the young and bouncy Florica was anyone's guess. Then, there was Uncle Camlo, a middle-aged man with foggy eyes and a calm expression. He sat in a seat toward the back, bent over his cane. A strange metal leg poked out from under his raged pants. Cyrus couldn't help but stare.

"Automail," Camlo said.

Cyrus startled and averted his eyes, feeling awkward for staring. He was certain the old man had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

"Got it back during the Ishvalen Civil War. The old one was blown off in a minefield we were camping near. Would have been nice for the military to clue us in. Though, if there's anything we can learn from that war, it's that Amersrian's don't like deviants." Uncle Camlo chuckled. "Good thing we're heading to Resembool. I got this fine piece of machinery at a mechanic who lives there. She tells me to get it serviced every few months no matter where I am. But who has the money for that? I save up so I have enough to afford her prices."

"You wouldn't need the cane if you had it serviced," Florica reminded him.

Camlo stared at the rushing road. "True, but then people wouldn't hold doors open for me." He snickered.

Florica's mother cut into the conversation with a growl. "That war isn't a laughing matter, Camlo. It was a slaughter."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. It was the most he had heard her speak in days. "What happened?"

Florica's mother curled her lip. "An Amerstrian soldier shot an Ishvalen child. That was the beginning of an almost complete extermination. I had a sister who left the caravan and converted to Ishvala. The town she lived in was the first to be bombed by those State Alchemists bastards. Hope that red eyed idiot she married was worth it."

An awkward silence followed, only interrupted by the exaggerated cough of Uncle Camlo.

"The military is helping to rebuild," Florica said.

Her mother only snorted. The conversation dropped, leaving Cyrus relieved.

"Hey Cyrus, Go punch Boamos awake, would you?" Florica nodded to the wagon rolling beside them. "He's going to fall off his wagon and get run over."

"Wouldn't be the first time and will hardly be the last," Uncle Camlo said.

Cyrus welcomed the task after such a tense discussion. Boamos was always pleasant company.

Cyrus and Boamos laughed the afternoon away. Boamos even handed over the reins at one point. Though it seemed simple, the mule was decrepit and stubborn. The wagon more so. Cyrus got fed up and returned control to the jeering drunk. That was around when Cyrus retired to the back of the wagon and began snooping through Boamos' trunk.

Cyrus flipped through the pages of a sketchbook, observing the myriad of faces. He spent the next hour shape shifting, trying to duplicate their features. He checked his accuracy with a misty mirror he dug out of the trunk. This soon led to hisses of frustration. Cyrus never got the look right. The eyes weren't quite in the right spot or the skin pigment didn't match.

From the driver's bench, Boamos commented on the person Cyrus was attempting to shift into. Cyrus was too busy pouting to listen. He growled from behind one of the many stolen faces and threw the mirror back into the trunk, cracking it. Why had it been so simple shifting into Florica that first time? He had since tried her image many times, but it had never been as perfect as that first night.

"You're trying too hard," Boamos said. "What were you thinking before, when you first did it?"

Cyrus glared, annoyed that Boamos seemed to hear his thoughts.

"I don't know… I was watching her dance." Cyrus glanced into Florica's wagon. Her face beamed and it looked like she was tittering.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Boamos asked, with a mocking smile.

Cyrus frowned. "I don't know what brought it on, but it's not what you think."

"Good. She's a little old for you, kid," Boamos teased.

Cyrus shoved Boamos in the arm, and the man gripped the wooden seat so not to fall.

"Why did you stop?" said a small voice from behind.

Cyrus turned to see a wagon full of children staring with large, fascinated eyes. Their little bodies hung over the gate to get a better look. "Stopped what?"

The children exchanged glances. A little girl named Ethalinda spoke. "Changing."

It seemed Cyrus had an audience. The children weren't the only ones watching him shape shift. Several adults were straining their necks to get a glimpse into Boamos' wagon. Cyrus hung his head, even more ashamed of his failure than before.

"Have you tried an animal yet?" Ethalinda asked.

"Well, uh..."

Ethalinda pointed to an old black dog sleeping in the wagon with the children. "Try Buddy. He won't mind."

Cyrus shifted his eyes, somewhat daunted by the prospect. He had never tried shifting into an animal... But how remarkable it would be if he could! Despite the risk of trying and failing in front of the whole caravan, he decided to take the gamble.

Cyrus breathed and focused hard on the dog's long, flappy ears. The green seeds tangled in his matted, curling tail. The way the dog's barrel chest rose and fell in slumber...

Warmth ran through Cyrus' limbs as red light engulfed him. Black fur sprouted from his skin. His tongue lolled from his mouth as it stretched beneath his cold, wet nose. His trench coat, long pants and ruffled shirt hung off him, pooling in folds on the wagon floor. Cyrus shook, as if by impulse, and trotted on all fours to the mirror. Staring back, were the droopy brown eyes of the dog... A perfect copy.

Cheers erupted from the children's wagon, and Boamos' gaped at Cyrus in amazement. Victory bristled beneath Cyrus' new coat and he gave an enthusiastic bark. He got another laughing cheer, Florica and Uncle Camlo among them.

Cyrus ate up the attention. He leapt from the wagon, stumbling on his new four legs. He recovered, and pranced circles around the moving wagons. He paid no mind to the questions nagging the back of his mind. What made shape shifting into Buddy the dog so simple? Would he be able to duplicate the animal again?

Charged with boldness, Cyrus bounded into Florica's cart, landing in her lap. He changed back into his normal form and grabbed onto one of the beams. After glancing down to make sure his original black clothes were still in place, he gave a playful bow. Florica squealed and applauded.

All throughout the caravan, the gypsies demanded more. So Cyrus, jumped from the cart and landed as the dog again. This time, he changed the fur color to golden blonde, then a savory red. Show boating was good practice and everyone seemed impressed.

Cyrus pranced alongside Shelta's cart where she and Trovius sat side by side. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but it seemed they were discussing him.

"Trovius, this isn't draining his stone, right?" Shelta asked.

Trovius made a worried sound through his nose and mumbled something Cyrus could not hear.

Cyrus blew off their concern. How much energy could shape shifting take? Trovius and Roger both said Cyrus had hundreds of years in his stone. Besides, he felt great and had plenty of energy!

Cyrus sat on his haunches and scanned the caravan for another animal to try. He barely noticed the roar of many powerful engines rolling up behind the caravan. He heard someone mention "military," and unease clouded every face.

Then, Trovius began screaming at him. "Cyrus! Get over here!" When Cyrus did not respond right away, Trovius' brows furrowed. "I said now!"

'How **dare** Trovius order me around!' Cyrus thought.

Cyrus focused, preparing to resume his humanoid form and give Trovius a piece of his mind. Then something clipped his backside hard. One of the military trucks almost bowled him over. Cyrus stumbled, unhurt but too shocked to change shape.

Trovius jumped from the wagon as the armored convoy barreled through. His ankle twisted as he fell, then crawled to Cyrus.

"Are you alright?" Trovius whispered.

Cyrus hadn't time to respond before the red light repaired his mangled hind legs. Trovius threw his arms up, blocking the red light from view.

Boamos screamed at the trucks, spitting at them as they passed. "Vaf fanculoto! Military idiots! Watch where you drive your damn tanks, Stronzosus!"

The military rolled forward and out of sight, leaving the caravan in a cloud of dust and Aerugonian curses.

Trovius sighed in relief. Cyrus seized the chance to return to normal. He frowned, trying to mask his embarrassment over the truck nicking him.

Trovius scolded Cyrus further. "Cyrus, you must not shift while we are out in the open! If the military had seen you… I can't even think about what might have happened to you."

Cyrus scoffed, but managed to hold his tongue. He stomped back to Boamos' wagon before Trovius could say anything any further. He plopped down next to Boamos, yanked his human clothes back on, and crossed his arms.

"That was close," Boamos said.

"Trovius is a paranoid idiot," Cyrus muttered.

Boamos sighed. "You may not like what I'm about to say, and this will be one of the few times I will say it, by the way... But I agree with him."

Cyrus starred at Boamos in shock. Boamos always took Cyrus' side, especially when the opposing team was Trovius. "How can you?"

"Look. The military collects alchemic weaponry and creatures. Nothing good would become of you if you ended up in their custody."

Cyrus rolled his eyes.

"Trovius doesn't want you locked up in a lab," Boamos added. "Neither do I."

"They would have to catch me first," Cyrus said.

Boamos snickering. "And you need to work on that paper thin ego of yours."

Cyrus grumbled and hopped off the wagon once again. He found a much more sympathetic ear with Florica. He remained on her wagon for the rest of the trip.

The wagons rolled through hills and fields of farmland dotted with wooden houses. Men and women toiled in the crops, some looking up and waving as the caravan passed. Chirping birds, bleating goats, and the wail of a far off train stirred the peaceful land. Squares of multicolored land changed hue as they approached a small village. He assumed it was Resembool. It was nothing compared to the bustling town of Dublith. He scoffed. How could such a talented alchemist come from such an unassuming little place?

The wagons slowed to a stop past the bones of a burned down farm house nestled on a hill near the road. Shelta and a few others continued walking toward the village. Cyrus jumped down to observe their temporary home. The large group started unpacking. Cyrus helping Florica and Boamos and ignored Trovius struggling with his trunk.

Uncle Camlo ruffled through an old leather bag and smiled when he found his money purse. "I'll be much more useful with a working leg. The repair shop isn't far from here."

Florica dropped what she was doing and stabilized her uncle. "I can help you there."

"We'll go too. Are you ready, Cyrus?" Boamos asked, hopping off his wagon.

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, not knowing where they would be going so soon.

"You wanted to meet that Elric guy, right? He and his brother live with the Rockbells, who are Camlo's Automail mechanics," Boamos said.

Cyrus dropped the totes he had unloaded and ran to Boamos. He had spent a long time thinking about what to ask the ex-military alchemist. Still his chest tightened. He was not sure how to approach the many topics he had spinning in his mind. The transmutation circle and the alchemy used to send him away from Creta were good places to start. Yet, the seven homunculi of the past were still on his mind. If anyone knew about them, it would be a State Alchemist.

At the end of a long path lined with a short stone wall, lay a yellow farmhouse with spring green shutters. A crocked sign reading "Auto-Mail" hung next to the front porch. Cyrus saw a sleeping dog near the entrance, its front leg replaced with a metal stand in. The dog perked it's ears at the group's arrival and growled from its throat as it eyed Cyrus. Uncle Camlo gave a few loud knocks and they all waited in relative silence.

The door clicked open. A very short and very old woman wearing a pursed expression peaked out. She had to look up to observe the group, pulling the long pipe from her teeth to greet them. "I see you haven't taken my advice to get that serviced at any point during the past five years."

Uncle Camlo gave a single snicker. "Time got away from me."

The gray haired woman rolled her eyes behind rounded glasses.

"Too much time will mess with the alignment of your spine if you're hobbling. Do try not to let any more time slip by." the old woman stepped to the side, inviting the large party inside.

"It is good to see you again, Pinako." Uncle Camlo reached to shake her hand.

Cyrus lingered behind the group, the dog following only to keep a sharp eye on him. The house was quiet. The home's many windows brightened the wooden floors and wallpaper. The air smelled like metal and fruit. Cyrus glanced around the room, listening hard for any sign that others were there.

Pinako made Uncle Camlo sit and offered to make tea or coffee for whoever wanted it. All the while, she eyed Cyrus. "Who have you brought along? He must be a character if Den doesn't like him."

Cyrus was unsure how to respond. Luckily Boamos did the introduction for him.

"He's Cyrus. He started traveling with us a few months back." Boamos paused. "It was his birthday not too long ago."

Pinako grunted, not seeming to care. She yanked Uncle Camlo's pants down, leaving the old man standing in his under shorts. Cyrus saw the false leg in detail for the first time. A sleek dark steel ran up in sectioned plates making up a smooth, functional leg. It connected short of Camlo's upper thigh, held to him by strong bolts through the flesh.

It also gave Cyrus an opportunity to see Uncle Camlo's remaining leg. It too suffered from the bomb. Scars lined the man's inner leg. Some of his remaining toes pushed back at odd angles. A signature of the conflict everyone called the Ishvalen civil war.

The steel leg came off with ease. Pinako attached a much less impressive stand-in and threw the other over her shoulder. She trekked across the room to her workstation.

"I'll have this done in a few hours, and then you can be on your way." Pinako pulled out an old pair of goggles, playing them over her glasses. "Make yourselves at home."

Boamos failed to bring up the Fullmetal Alchemist, so Cyrus did. "I heard of a man who lives here... The Fullmetal Alchemist or Elric. I was hoping to meet him, or his brother."

Pinako turned around in her seat and raised a gray eyebrow. "It annoys the hell out of Ed when people address him as if he's still in the military. Edward will do fine."

Cyrus looked to his feet and held his tongue. Did it look like he cared?

Pinako got back into her work but continuing the topic. "You have the right house, but I'm afraid you missed both of the boys by about four months. Edward is studying in the west and his younger brother Alphonse is in Xing. I would give you a number to call, but they rarely stay in one place long enough. You would think calling home would kill them by how little they do it."

Cyrus sighed, trying to quell his disappointment.

"My granddaughter Winry is returning from Rush Valley, and she may know where they are. What made you interested in talking to them?"

Cyrus tried to suppress a chuckle. "I had many questions about a very particular field in Alchemy..." He stopped there, knowing the entirety of the story would make her look at him as if he was insane.

Sparks flew from the table and Pinako did not bother looking up. "Well, if you want, you can write him a letter. If you leave before Ed gets back, I will send it out the moment I get word where he is."

Inside his pocket, Cyrus ran a finger over the folded paper of the Cretan girl. He wondered if the elder Elric was in Creta. He would have to wait and see.

As the hours ticked by, Cyrus got bored and wandered the downstairs. His eyes trailed the walls lined with photos of many blonde haired, blue-eyed family members. They resembled Pinako if she was younger. A few of the photos might have even been of the mechanic herself. Florica had joined him, leaving her uncle and Boamos who had both fallen asleep on the coach.

Cyrus froze his gaze on a wooden photo board. One photo in particular caught his attention. Two young men, one a good deal shorter than the other. He had a young pale face, smiling out from behind a mess of long, braided golden blonde hair. His arm wrapped around the other man, who looked similar, but with shorter hair and a younger face. They were likely related.

"I know this guy," Cyrus blurted. "I don't know how I know but... That's Edward Elric."

"Maybe from the paper?" Florica offered.

Cyrus shook his head. A short flash of a memory struck him, though it was only a simple sentence, spoken with his own voice.

 _"Long time no see. How are you Fullmetal Pipsqueak?"_

Cyrus tried to focus on the dialogue, trying to recall what happened next…

The front door slammed open, making both he and Florica jump. In the threshold was a woman, her long golden blonde hair framed her pale face.

Pinako spoke, her voice confused. "Winry, welcome home, but I wasn't expecting you until-"

"Do you know what that idiot did?!" Winry said, tossing her travel bag to the worn wooden floor. Den, who had been so tense around Cyrus, fled past them and out the back dog door.

"Oh dear, what has he done now?" Pinako sounded nonplussed as she tightened a screw into place.

Winry's blue eyes rolled and she crossed her thin arms over her chest. "That bastard got me pregnant!"


	15. Chapter 15

Cyrus and the others headed out down the dusty road. Uncle Camlo was able to keep pace with his fixed leg. He was also the only one who seemed to notice Cyrus' blank expression.

"I'm sure Ed will get your letter." Uncle Camlo tapped Cyrus on the shoulder with his cane. "Pinako keeps her word, and she will get it to him before her granddaughter kills him."

That wasn't what troubled Cyrus. Winry's final words were ringing in his head. On the way out of the mechanic's shop, she had stopped him.

"Hey, have we met?" Winry asked.

The question startled Cyrus. "No."

Winry raised an eyebrow. She seemed apprehensive, as though she didn't trust him. "You sound familiar."

Cyrus didn't know how to respond. There was no way for him to know anything for certain with his memories jumbled as they were. If he remembered Edward, then why not Edward's girlfriend? He spent the rest of the hike racking his brain to recall Winry.

Cyrus almost asked Trovius, but thought better of it. The doctor didn't know about his quest to find the Ex-military Alchemist, Edward Elric. Even if Cyrus did ask, Trovius would never say anything... The old fool.

Uncle Camlo parted ways with the group as they carried on into the small town. Cyrus, Boamos, and Florica stopped for lunch, then strolled through a few shops. In the middle of town, Boamos found a dance hall. It was empty save for them.

Boamos took a seat at a piano next to a small, raised stage. He rolled through a few scales. "Can't resist the keys when I find them."

Cyrus' bitterness rose in his chest. The number of instruments the drunk could play was staggering. Envious as ever, Cyrus trudged a circle around the dance hall. His footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, keeping tempo with the piano melody.

He stopped before a window and pulled out his mother's portrait, holding it up to the light. It gave her face the same heavenly glow she had in that white place.

'I will find you, mom…' Cyrus thought with conviction.

The door to the dance hall opened and Trovius walked in, his eyes wary with dark bags. Still, he smiled.

Cyrus frowned. He shuffled the picture back into his pocket and joined Boamos and Florica. He turned his back to the doctor with an over exaggerated "humph."

"What can we do for you, Doc?" Boamos asked, trailing his fingers up the piano keys, leaving a musical tune in his wake.

"Our land is secure for a time," Trovius said. He sounded unsure, and Cyrus was certain he was staring at him. "Cyrus?"

Cyrus rolled his eyes and turned to face Trovius. The doctor held a small box wrapped in string, an awkward smile on his face. Was Trovius trying the same tactic Roger tried? Did they think him so gullible, excepting to win him over with gifts?

Trovius smiled wider. "It occurred to me, I never gave you a proper birthday gift."

"Isn't that because I wasn't actually 'born' when you found me?" Cyrus said, with a superior tone.

"Still. I want to give you a birthday gift." Trovius handed over the box.

Humoring him, Cyrus unwrapped the gift. Inside, was a gold, chain necklace with an elaborate charm dangling in the middle. A dog prancing in the center of a transmutation circle. But not just any transmutation circle... The same array Trovius and Shelta found him in.

Shock thrilled through Cyrus when the realization him him. Trovius hadn't bought the necklace. He had transmuted it himself, down to the most minute detail.

"Happy birthday, Cyrus. I want you to know how proud I am of you." Trovius said.

Florica bounced over to Cyrus and gushed. "Wow, doctor! This must have taken you forever to make!"

Trovius held his chin high.

"Isn't transmuting gold illegal, Doc?" Boamos snickered.

Trovius huffed. "It is illegal to transmute elements such as lead or coal into gold. I transmuted some gold coins I already had. Perfectly legal."

Cyrus rubbed the charm between his fingers. He wanted to remain bitter, but something trilled in his chest. A strange sensation, resonated from his stone, something he had never felt before. What was it?

Cyrus couldn't think of anything to say. So he nodded at Trovius, opened the clasp, and fastened the necklace around his neck.

* * *

The gold necklace swung from Cyrus' neck as he trotted down the road as a cat. They had been in Resembool for three months, and he was getting good at shapeshifting. Though only with animals. He took Trovius' advice and always ducked behind an ally before shifting. He enjoyed strolling through streets unnoticed.

The air was turning cold, and the gypsy camp was preparing to move once again, this time closer to the East. Cyrus hadn't heard anything from Edward Elric. He assumed he wouldn't before they left.

Cyrus left the town behind and explored the countryside. The burned farmhouse was a landmark between town and the forest. In the distance, he spotted a hill. It was not occupied by any humans, so Cyrus decided it was a good place to practice shape shifting in the open.

His four legs sprinted up the hill, leaping over stone slabs lining the grass. It took him a moment to realize the hill was a graveyard. He slowed his gait for a closer inspection, his eyes scanning the graves for their dates. He wondered how long humans lived. The graves not eroded by time showed that most live between sixty and ninety years. Some were unfortunate to die the same year they were born.

Cyrus could not explain what made him pause before those two grave stones. A husband and wife, the husband having the unique name of Van Hohenheim. His date of birth was not carved, but his death had been recent, only three years ago. What Cyrus found most interesting was the other gave, the wife, Trisha Elric. Where these two related to Edward Elric?

Cyrus turned back into his preformed form, running his hand over Van Hohenheim's name. The stone radiated wisdom. A smile crossed Cyrus' face. Winry recognized his voice, the graves of Edward's relatives seemed to call out for him... Warm familiarity encompassed Cyrus when his thoughts came together. He and Edward must have been friends in his past life.

Breeze toiled a patch of white wild flowers, wafting the scent to where Cyrus stood. He dropped to his knees before the flowers and cast a wary look over his shoulder. When he was certain he was alone, he began to pluck the flowers by the stems. The last of the summer's bees bumbled about the petals as Cyrus made his way back to the graves. Then, he laid the bouquet before Van Hohenheim's stone and descended the hill.

* * *

One Year Later

Cyrus gazed passed his own reflection as the landscape outside the train flew by. He sat by himself for most of the ride, except for the small bag he had taken with him. It sat at his side on the cushioned seat along with his hand-me-down violin. Cyrus had gotten better at playing, but he was still not as good as Boamos.

Speaking of Boamos, Cyrus intended to meet with the Gypsies at a far western town along the boarder of Creta. He had left the caravan for three weeks, following a lead about his past.

News came to Cyrus that Cretan spies were trying to cross through Northern Amestris. Cyrus planned to find them, but Fort Briggs soldiers captured them. After their capture, the spies committed suicide with hidden poison. Cyrus left the North disappointed. Yet another dead end. He was no closer to finding his mother. The survivors of the Arbus Tribe had locked themselves in Melos, all but vanishing.

Usually Trovius accompanied Cyrus on these types of leads. Cyrus denied the doctor, feeling it best to go alone. Of course, Trovius bucked at the idea, but to both their surprise Roger was supportive of it. Roger even sent Cyrus money for the trip, along with a fake identification and a set of legal papers.

The documents were quite convincing. They said he was a seventeen-year-old named Cyrus Welling. He was a blood relative of Trovius, who took him in after his parents died in the Ishval civil war. Many death records were lost in the war, so it was believable. One of the last documents in the file contained fine print. Roger would become Cyrus' legal guardian if anything happened to "uncle" Trovius.

Cyrus retrieved an old book from his luggage. He had been using as a journal of sorts. Every page was a letter, addressed to the same person, his mother. He wasn't sure he would send the letters, even if he found her location. They were all personal, detailing his travels and his insecurities. Even his frustrations about how he could not find her or his siblings. Cyrus opened a new page and pondered his words.

He glanced at his ID, wondering what his true name was. Was his mother still alive after so much time had passed? One year since his rebirth, and he had no more flash backs. If it weren't for Boamos' sketch, faded and worn in Cyrus' pocket, he would have forgotten what she looked like. Cyrus often fantasized about a life in Creta. Sometimes, he pretended these were his memories.

'How pathetic,' Cyrus reminded himself whenever the fantasies bubbled up. He missed the idea of a woman he had never met.

The train's whistle cut through him. The western town was approaching. Thoughts of the gypsies cheered him up. He had gotten a letter from Florica about an event happening in town, but it was a surprise. Cyrus detested surprises, but tended to play along with Florica.

Stepping off the train, he glanced around the dusty town. Even the dreary scenery was an improvement over the frozen, Northern wasteland. If he could help it, he would avoid the North at all costs from there on out.

He followed the dirt road weaving between the buildings. The small town seemed more energetic then it usually was. He was almost positive there wasn't a festival... Why the excitement?

The town settled on a natural hill making up the uneven terrain of curves and open fields. Cyrus made for the Caravan dotting the outskirts along the base. Along the hilly terrain, was a crowd of people.

"Cyrus!" Florica ran barefoot out of the crowd and hugged him. "I was afraid you were going to miss it!"

Cyrus gave Florica a pointed look. "Whatever the occasion, I'm not dancing."

Florica rolled her eyes. "It's not a festival. There are Cretan people here in town."

"They snuck in?" Cyrus hastened his steps, following Florica down the hill towards the caravan.

"No, they came in legally. They are doing an experiment with the hills here. The military gave them permission to use some sort of machine."

'An experiment unrelated to alchemy?' Cyrus wondered.

The caravan was in his sights. Trovius was of course overjoyed to see him, jogging over to relieve Cyrus of his bag.

"So good to see you, my dear boy! How was your first trip by yourself?" Trovius asked, with the same excitement of a protective parent.

Cyrus hid his blushing with a frown and a shrug. "It was boring. The spies were dead by the time I got there. I heard nothing about them other than that. Also, I hate snow."

Trovius laughed and patted Cyrus on the back. "We may have a second chance! Did Florica tell you about those From Creta being here?"

Florica puffed her cheeks. "Do you think I'm dumb? Of course I did."

"They are not with the Cretan military, they are Milosians." Trovius explained in a whisper. "The country that took in your creator's people."

Excitement hurried through Cyrus body as images of his mother came to mind. Milosians. What if his mother was among them? At the very least, her brother? It was a stretch, but worth the time to investigate.

The three walked into the camp, dropping Cyrus' luggage next to Boamos' cart. The drunk lay sprawled flat on his back in the grass, his arm draped over his face.

"You dead?" Cyrus gave Boamos' boot a kick.

Florica sighed. "Don't mind him. He hurt his back a week ago and has been laid out ever since."

"Are we going to see the Flyers now?" Boamos grumbled through his sleeve.

Cyrus looked puzzled. "What's a Flyer?"

"It's the machines the Milosians are testing," Florica explained. "When there is a strong wind, they glide off cliffs."

"They have also invented one-man gliders," Trovius added. "Though, they are not powered by anything other than grappling hooks. The flyer they are going to test is motorized and can carry more than one person."

"It's going to crash," Boamos said, hoisting himself up with a pained groan.

Trovius glared at Boamos. "Please let me examine your back. Your gloomy mood is trying to say the least."

Boamos waved Trovius off. Cyrus chuckled. "Not much has changed."

Just then, a swarm of Gypsy children ran to Cyrus. They tugged on his arms and trench coat.

"Cyrus is back!" they cheered. "Turn into something!"

"How about a lion!"

"No, a horse with gold hair!"

"Or a military officer." Boamos snickered. He was eyeing the many boarder patrollers watching them from a few hilltops away.

Trovius' face drain of color. "Absolutely not! Cyrus will not change into anything but a better disguise. The military cannot discover him."

Cyrus suppressed a laugh and patted a little girl on the head. "Eh, how about I change tonight, when there are less people around."

A relived sigh from Trovius was among the disappointed groans of the children.

Trovius eyed the military then leaned into Cyrus to whisper. "So, do any of them look familiar?"

Cyrus scanned the group of fifteen Milosians. If he was with the Arbus tribe, and they were allies with the Milosians, then perhaps he would recognize someone. Anything to spark a memory. Their faces were joking, cursing, or in deep debate. He didn't recognize any of them. They were tinkering with some sort of wooden and fabric construction at the top of a hill. It was an odd contraption with a seat in the center of two massive wings. Cyrus approached as close as he was aloud with Trovius, Florica, and Boamos on his tail.

A wind pulled the Flyer into the air and the Milosians gripped the grounding ropes tighter. One of the Milosian men turned and addressed the crowd. Cyrus tried to push his way to the front, on the off chance that the man would recognize him.

Florica leaned her head onto Cyrus' shoulder. "Do they look familiar?"

Cyrus studied the Milosians and sighed trying to quell his disappointment. "No."

"Cheer up," Boamos said. "Focus on how funny it'll be when the foreigners crash their monstrous wooden trap."

One of the Milosians smacked the protesting motor with a wrench as it puffed in protest. Black smoke belched into their faces. A loud, droning hum made further conversation impossible. Two people spun the front two blades, then dove out of the way. The propellers spun so fast they became invisible.

"Wait for it," Boamos managed to say over the roar of the engine. He mimed an explosion with his hands.

The Milosians released the ropes and shoved the Flyer towards the edge of the hill. It rolled forward on massive tiers, bumping down the hill like an awkward automobile. It approached the bottom that opened in a field, shuttering, seeming ready to topple over. A large bump pushed the machine into the air, and it's wheels never reconnected. The Flyer glided, pulling up and up and up.

The crowd's cheers were deafening. A few spectators with large bulky photography equipment gave chase. They snapped blinding flashes to capture the Flyer mid-flight.

"Wow." Cyrus felt the excitement and the vibrating roar of the engine in his chest. He had been under the impression amazing human feet's were only capable through alchemy.

The Flyer lowered back to the flat ground, its wheels connecting seamlessly. The human's aboard the Flyer jump out, their smiles beaming as they shook hands with their team. All eyes were on them.

Cyrus thought back to the first time he discovered he could shape shift. He felt the same awe inspired eyes fixed onto him. Though he had stumbled onto his talent out of jealousy. These humans must have been working on this for years. Their passion was intentional and driven. If these humans could fly in such a short time, Cyrus wondered what he was capable of in a millennia. He shivered.

Twilight fell over the Western town. The only remaining light came from popping coals of the small fire. Cyrus felt proud of himself. He managed to remain ten feet from the blaze almost all the way through dinner.

Cyrus noticed Trovius gazing into the fire in silence. He seemed distracted, sad. Shelta sat by Trovius' side, handing him a chipped cup of tea. Cyrus watched them, listening from behind a tree.

"You are worrying again," Shelta said. "Cyrus returned home from the North. Roger says internal military noise has been quiet. What is there to fear?"

Trovius didn't reply right away. "I can sense Cyrus' frustration with this Cretan business. Of course, he is hiding it like he always does. But, I understand how he feels. With each passing year, the chances of finding his creator alive becomes less likely. We still have yet to identify the other two Homunculi he saw in the vision. They are out there somewhere and may need our help. But, without the Arbus people, I don't know if we can move any further."

"So, then you will travel to Creta?" Shelta's tone was now as worried at Trovius'.

"Roger intends to… Cyrus will want to go. I don't know what kind of environment it is. No other hostile forces have come for him these past few years. That luck may not last. I'm not sure how much longer I can stall us going there. I fear Cyrus may leave on his own. I don't blame him… but I am selfish. I wish we could leave this whole mess behind us."

"Cyrus seems happy here, but uneasy ever still. He can't move on, Trovius. Not without knowing what happened to his creator."

Cyrus resisted the urge to intervene. He gazed over the hills where the dark mountains of Creta were visible. A sudden deviousness overcame him

Trovius continued. "With a low enough profile, we can... WHAT THE DEVIL?"

A large lion trotted up to Trovius and Shelta and roared inches from Trovius' face. A parade of cheering children formed at its tail.

Shelta snickered as Cyrus shifted into another fabulous animal. He shook his colorful feathers, imitating some exotic bird he had read about. It wasn't an exact match but he was taking some creative liberty. His gold necklace swung from his thin neck, but he gave pause to see Trovius force a smile.

Cyrus froze when he heard the faint crackle of Trovius' radio. Boamos was listening to it, leaning against the wheel of his wagon. Cyrus recognized the voice through the crackling speaker. It was the Amestrian leader, Fuhrur Grumman. He spoke often about the state of the country, holidays, and patriotic events. This time, the Fuhrur was boasting about his achievements since his rise to power. Cyrus had seen him once or twice in the paper. A pasty skinned old geezer with thick glasses and a crooked smile.

Boamos glanced up when the red light of Cyrus' shape shifting flashed again. Furhur Grumman stood where Cyrus once had, mouthing the radio in a mocking way. Florica and the children laughed.

Boamos rolling his eyes and reclined into the grass. "You managed to get this uglier than the original. It's either an instinct or a talent."

Cyrus jumped and shifted into a dog midair, landing his two large paws on Boamos' abdomen. Still a dog, Cyrus laughed as Boamos gasped for air. The drunk managed to flick him off.

"Please cousin. There are children present." Florica said.

"Wait, you mean to tell me, they can watch him kill me, but god forbid, they see-"

"Cyrus!" Trovius shouted.

His nervous tone was enough for Cyrus to get the hint and stop shifting. Someone was there that shouldn't be.

Trovius gestured to the front of the camp. "Someone is here looking for you."

Boamos gave Cyrus a shrug. "They're here for ya, Cyrus. Can you handle this, or should I get my gun? My vision's a bit blurry from getting trampled by some alchemic freak."

Cyrus kicked dirt at Boamos before he ducked into Shelta's tent. The tent cover muffled the red light as he shifted back into his humanoid form. He grabbed his trench coat from the bed and slipped it on.

Trovius looked nervous, doing well to block the thin man from entering the camp. The man wore a brown shirt and black pants. Cyrus saw Shelta was much calmer, of course, smiling at the new comer.

The man looked to Cyrus, seeming none the wiser to the banter happening behind the tents. "Hi, sorry for the late hour, but you're Cyrus correct?"

Cyrus nodded, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Do you know a man named Edward Elric?"

Cyrus' eyes must have reflected his shock. He hadn't thought of the alchemist in almost a year when he had given up the notion of hearing back from him.

"Yes, I wrote to him," Cyrus said.

The man held out a wrinkled envelope, relief flooding his face. "It's been hard to find you. This has bounced around from town to town for years… Next time, try to include a last name, or a stable address." The delivery man said.

Cyrus reached out and accepted the envelope. He ignored Trovius' confused and flustered expression. When the delivery man left, Cyrus ripped open the letter, seeing the worn words 'Cyrus' on the front. Trovius, of course, read over his shoulder. Florica stood on her toes to read as well.

 _"Dear Cyrus,_

 _I'm sorry I missed you in Resembool. From what you have sent me, it would have been very fascinating to speak with you in person. I am happy to help with the type of Alchemy you described, I do recognize it. It seems to be a mix of Cretan and Xingese Alchemy._

 _Relating to your second question. It is in fact possible to use alchemy to transport a human to a different location. The array you drew would allow such deconstruction and reconstruction of a human. I know because I have experienced this type of Alchemy first hand. But, the amount of energy required can be deadly, so I would not recommend doing it. Also, you would need a stable end point to send the reconstructed material. With my personal experience, I was stuck in a location with no known exits with two others. I used an Alchemic amplifier (a pre-existing Philosopher's Stone) as a toll. The Stone I used was in an Alchemic vessel connected to a similar energy source at the other end of the array. As I am alive to write this letter, it was successful. However, my circumstances were unusual. I was not familiar with the amount of energy stored in the Stone. Also, the temperament surrounding the Stone's vessel was… Hard to cooperate with._

 _Now, relating to your question. The attack on the country to create a countrywide philosopher's Stone. You have not been the first to ask me about the rumored homunculi involved. I understand why the military has been hesitant to share the details. But, I do not share the same secretive ideals. If you are curious about these events, you are welcome to hear the truth... If you are willing to believe it._

 _There were in fact eight Homunculi behind the plot. The oldest being the creator of the others and the mastermind behind the scheme. The Countrywide Transmutation circle was intended to extend their thousand year life span. But, the Homunculi were destroyed in the final battle in an attempt to further their creator's agenda. The creator could not be bothered to care about his creations. Like the humans in their country, the Homunculi were pawns in his scheme that ended in failure. It was a shame none of them were able to see that before their demise._

 _I hope I was able to help. If there is more you wish to discover, I would recommend the same location where I came to these conclusions. In the East desert before you reach the country of Xing, there are the ruins of Xerxes. This was the birth place of the first Homunculi. It was also the beginning of his quest for immortality at the cost of every living human in Xerxes. I found what I was looking for there, and I would recommend you do the same, if you want to learn more on the subject. Either way, I wish you luck. Perhaps, we will meet in our travels one day._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Edward Elric"_

Cyrus' mind was swimming. He had never stopped thinking about those eight Homunculi. Now Edward said there was a place he could go to learn even more. Xerxes, the birth place of the Homunculi, his people. Could his mother have visited Xerxes to gain it's ancient knowledge?

Cyrus felt Trovius burning a hole in the side of his head with his gaze. Cyrus was in trouble. Trovius now knew what Cyrus had done behind his back. Reaching out to a retired military officer was one thing. Sharing confidential information was another. Cyrus had to think of something to say to make the old doctor forget all that. He would need to manipulate the situation in his favor.

In a moment, he had it. With an excited smile Cyrus turned to Trovius, clinging to his letter. "Dad, Can we go to Xerxes?"


	16. Chapter 16

Hi everyone! Fall is here, and national writing month this November is drawing closer! I hope everyone makes room in their busy schedules to write, draw, or express themselves in any way they feel driven to!

This chapter was fun to write, and I can't wait to hear what you think. Please comment, and enjoy!

* * *

Roger arrived before the sun rose. Cyrus hadn't seen Roger in a few months. Despite their bumpy start, Roger never stopped trying to mend their relationship. Cyrus gave up trying to ignore him. The old alchemist was a well of information and money. Besides, Roger owning a car proved useful time and time again.

Both alchemists were giddy about the trip, filling the car with banter for hours. Xerxes was an alchemist's heaven, as it was one of the first ancient civilizations to master the art. And though Cyrus was certain he was more excited than the both of them, the never ending chatter annoyed him.

"I am very excited to return," Roger said, as they left the paved road behind. "I took Trovius when we were in our youth, and I am happy to take you, Cyrus! This is your kind's origin. If anything sparks a memory, it will be this place."

"To think we haven't thought of this before." Trovius said, shaking his head. "This will be very useful."

Cyrus nodded, watching the green woodlands fade into brown and yellow hardscape. They drove into a small desert town beside some ruins. This is where they would be staying for the next few nights.

Roger parked the car, and Cyrus leaped out as fast as he could. The brightness of the sun reflecting off the sand stung his eyes. The ruins were not what he expected. He pictured tall marble buildings and flowing aqueducts. Instead, crumbling sandstone buildings dotted the sweltering landscape. Vines climbed the walls, breaking up the monotonous color of the surroundings.

How sad, Cyrus thought. A once magnificent city, reduced to a half way point for caravans between Xing and Amestris... And they were the only ones there.

"Ready to explore, my boy?" Trovius asked.

Cyrus said nothing as he ventured forward, sinking into the the sand with each step.

Cyrus tried to remain optimistic, but after several hours in the ruins, nothing called out to him. Trovius and Rodger tried to spark memories by spouting off miscellaneous babble. They pulled Cyrus this way and that, finding broken murals and talking about each one. Roger dusted off his translation skills and noted the meanings of the carvings. Cyrus was amazed by how little he cared. None of it related to him.

In the silence of the desert, Cyrus began to wander. He broke away from the old alchemists, saying he want to be by himself for a while. He needed time to think.

A grand temple, or what was left of it, caught Cyrus' eye. He was curious to see what was inside. After climbing the stairs, he had to quell his disappointment. Most of the inside was gone. The roof had disintegrated, bleaching the cracked carvings with sunlight. Pillars littered the ground before a massive mural. It consumed an entire wall face with a rudimentary transmutation circle.

Cyrus noted the top of the transmutation circle was missing. He kicked at the rubble in the immediate area looking for the fragments. They were nowhere to be found.

 _"_ _I collected all the fragments I could find…"_

Cyrus lurched backward into a pillar. The memory came on so fast, so real. It was his own voice, distorted by foggy thoughts. A black place…two others had been there with him. His eyes shot back to the wall in front of him.

"The mural? Collected for what?" He took a deep breath and glanced around.

Then, another voice rang through him.

 _"_ _I propose a toast, my children. I shall drink to the Promised Day, and to your undying loyalty."_

A chill ran up Cyrus' spine. He had heard that voice before. It had been a year before, after he learned he could shape shift. He was getting close to something.

A shadow passed by two pillars.

Cyrus turned to face the shadow. "Trovius, Roger, I think I'm on to someth-"

Cyrus' face fell. Neither Trovius nor Roger stood in the temple with him. He was by himself... Or so it seemed. The shadow vanished. He heard no breathing, no shifting feet.

He frowned and backed out of the temple, his senses heightened. He had to keep searching. Edward Elric had been right. There was something familiar about this place. It didn't bring him comfort, like it did when he gazed at the picture of his mother. It was threatening. Like millions of eyes staring through him, judging him.

"Hey you!" a deep male voice growled from the road.

Two men stood a few yards away. They were tall and muscular, wearing dark clothes and angry expressions.

"What are you doing out here, kid?" The taller, dark haired man said, with an eastern Xingese accent. The lighter haired man stood with arms crossed, glaring at Cyrus.

"Sightseeing." Cyrus rolled his eyes, not appreciating the aggressive tone.

"Not in this area. It's our territory. Go back where the caravans meet." The light haired specified.

'Great.' Cyrus thought. The last thing his distracted mind needed was a couple of idiots stalking after him.

"I didn't know this wasteland was taken. Sorry about that. I'll head out, eventually," Cyrus said.

The men scowled even deeper. The dark haired man cracked his knuckles and approaches. "That's one hell of an attitude. I should teach you to watch your mouth."

A third voice piped up from a broken building. "Go easy, he's a kid. I'm sure he didn't know."

Cyrus glanced over as a shorter man emerged. Despite his softer gaze, he wore similar dark, threatening clothes.

"Sorry about this," the short man said. "But, I'm afraid you have to leave."

Cyrus placed his hands in his pockets and offered a shrug of indifference. "Didn't see any signs saying it was off limits."

Now the shorter man began to frown. "look kid, I'm telling you this so you don't get hurt."

Cyrus could have left. It would have been easier. But, the men had called him "kid" one to many times, and he was in a bad mood to begin with. He dug his heels into the sand and laughed. "I think I'll stay, thanks."

"Is that so?!" yelled the dark haired man. "We'll see who's laughing after I knock those teeth right out of your mouth, brat!"

The dark haired man balled up his fists and launched forward. Cyrus sidestepped him, maintaining the smile on his face. He kicked out his leg, and the man tripped and crashed down into the dirt.

"So, I still have all my teeth," Cyrus snickered. "Or haven't we started yet?"

The man spun up from the ground with a look of pure rage. "I'm going to rip your throat out…you little-"

The man's voice trailed as his muscles began to ripple. His body bulked up twice its original size and his arms began to grow a thick grayish fur. His teeth elongated and sharpened. Mouth and nose stretching into an unnatural form. His pupils dilated until they were almost completely black. An animal like growl ripped its way from the man's/beast's snout. He stood on his new hind legs.

The smile dropped off Cyrus' face. "What... Are you?"

The other two men didn't look shocked. They must have known their friend had this ability. They might have possessed it as well.

"I'll give you a few seconds to run, kid." The beast man warned in a distorted voice.

"…I'd run if I was scared," Cyrus said, yearning a snarl from the creature. "I'm not."

The beast man lopped at Cyrus, who jumped into the air before they could collide. Cyrus came down onto the beast's hackles, knocking him twitching to the ground. The other two men gasped.

"What the hell?" one of the man whispered.

Cyrus nudged the beast man with his foot to make sure he hadn't killed him. Cyrus almost felt guilty, but the man did attack first.

"Alright, who's next?" Cyrus turned as a second beast man sprang.

This time, Cyrus didn't have time to dodge. The thing raked its claws across his face. Blood splattered the ground and Cyrus stumbled back with a gasp. He grasped the wound on his cheek as pain exploded through his face. His vision blurred.

"Your limbs are coming off next, brat." Hissed the feather covered beast who used to be the shorter man. The other scale-covered man was stalking closer still. "One brat against two chimaeras. The odd aren't in your favor."

Then, the pain began to vanish and Cyrus smiled. He observed the creatures' expressions as the red sparks closed the wounds.

"I'm going to win." Cyrus stated smugly as he brushed over the regenerated skin.

The beasts stood with elongated muzzles hanging wide.

"Jarden…" gasped the scaled chimaera. " He can heal like the boss can."

That grabbed Cyrus' attention. What did they mean, he could heal like their 'boss'?

"Hey kid, are you a homunculus?" asked the bird-like man.

The stunned expression on Cyrus' face gave him away. Even still, he sneered. "I'm not telling you a damn thing."

"The boss is going to want to see him, Martis." the feathered man named Jarden mumbled to the other.

"Sorry about the welcome, kid." The scaled man named Martis said. "How about we make it up to you? Come with use to town, and we'll introduce you to someone like you."

Cyrus crossed his arms. "Yeah, how about I take your suggestion from before and leave. I've decided this place isn't worth it."

"Not so fast, kid. You can't walk away!" Martis dashed forward in an attempt to grab him.

Cyrus growled and hopped out of the way. Jarden went to grab him next, and Cyrus decided it was time to put an end to this. He snatched Jarden by the arm and hurled him across the road into a brick wall. Then Cyrus jumped up and kicked Martis hard in the head.

Cyrus glanced around at the three beast men scattered across the ground. He played with the idea of having Trovius or Rodger check on them to make sure they'd live.

'Nah,' Cyrus thought. These guys seemed sturdier then humans. They would be fine, maybe.

Cyrus wondered what to do next. There was a chance there was a second homunculus nearby. If so, that homunculus might know about his mother. But, he didn't know what another homunculus was capable of, and his first impression of his men wasn't a good one.

The safest thing to do would be to grab Trovius and Rodger and get out of the area as fast as possible.

Slow applause from behind stopped him in his tracks. "Well, that was impressive. I have to say, Martis, Jarden, and Yu were some of the strongest guys I have. Imagine my surprise when I see some kid in the ruins take all three of them down with no trouble."

Across the dusty road stood a tall and lean-built man dressed in black. He looked at Cyrus past his rounded shades and flashed a sharp-toothed smile. A small chimaera resembling a monkey girl jumped down next to the man.

"I saw him heal like you can, hun. He's a homunculus too." the monkey girl said, her accent Xingese.

"No kidding?" the man's shades slid down the bridge of his straight nose. His violet, cat eyes glistened as he pulled a hand through his short black hair, which stuck up in uneven points. There was a red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of the man's left hand.

Cyrus' skin went cold. "You're... We're..."

"The name's Bounty. What about you?" The man greeted.

Cyrus scoffed to save his nerves. "Bounty? Did you name yourself?"

"I did, as a matter of fact," Bounty said, with a smile. "I thought it summed up my personality pretty well. See, I'm a guy that likes the finer things in life. Money, sex, power, henchmen…" Bounty paused a moment, seeming perplexed. "Huh, Deja vu. Anyway. I've been busy trying to gain these things. For the longest time, I thought I was the strangest guy in my little gang. But now, here you are. By any chance, do you have a tattoo that looks something like this?"

Bounty showed the back of his hand and the red symbol of the serpent covering it. The spot over Cyrus left thigh felt hot as his thoughts jumped to his own tattoo.

"What about these?" Bounty pulled back his black jacket. Four red alchemic nodes flared. Two sat on both sides of his abdomen while the other two hung on either side of his upper torso.

'Thanks for showing off your weak points.' Cyrus thought. He knew any blow to those points could take Bounty down, going by personal experience. He was safe in the knowledge Bounty had no idea where his own nodes were.

"Never seen them before," Cyrus said, with a shrug of feigned indifference.

"That's not very convincing." Bounty laughed, adjusting his jacket to fit. Bounty advanced on Cyrus, who threw up his fists to defend himself. "Easy, I don't want a fight."

"Then what do you want?" Cyrus asked through gritted teeth.

"How about this. I've gathered a lot of info. Some may interest you. I can tell your hiding a good deal, which I'd like to know myself. What do you say we team up?" Bounty offered his left hand to shake with a fanged smile.

Cyrus looked up at Bounty with an eyebrow raised. Then he shrugged, and smashed his fist into the man's face.

Bounty stumbled back a few feet, holding his jaw. "Hey, you punched me!"

"Only because I couldn't think of a stronger way of saying, go to hell." Cyrus said.

Bounty laughed as the red regenerative light ran over his jaw. "Well, if that's the way you're going to be, I guess I'll be taking you back by force."

Bounty was upon Cyrus in a flash. Cyrus gasped, diving out of the way as Bounty took a swipe at him. It was clear they were both homunculi, meaning their powers were equal. But, Bounty was much more skilled at combat then Cyrus was. Cyrus had almost no time to dodge the man's attacks.

When Cyrus saw an opening, he threw a punch at Bounty's face. His fist made contact hard, breaking at least three of his knuckles. A dark grayish material had covered half of Bounty's face then retracted back into nothing.

"I was ready that time." Bounty snickered. He smiled wide when he saw the red light wash over Cyrus' broken hand. "I'll be damned. You are like me. And here I thought I was the only one!"

Cyrus fanned his fingers and hissed. He couldn't speak.

"Since you're like me, this shouldn't surprise you." Bounty held up his hand, and a rock like substance engulfed his skin, ending his fingers in sharp gray points. "It's a skill of mine. An unbreakable shield. Since you're so surprised, I guess your own skill is something different. Care to share?"

'There has to be someplace the shield doesn't cover.' Cyrus' eyes fell to the red points on Bounty's chest.

"Caught you staring." Bounty snickered as the shield consumed his entire body in its dark gray hue. His hair vanished, the whites of his eyes turned black, and his bared teeth showed in a permanent growl. He then knocked hard on one of the red nodes. He didn't flinch.

Cyrus swallowed, unsure how to proceed. If he couldn't touch Bounty then there was no way he could win.

Cyrus thought of his shape shifting ability. Was it possible to shift his limbs into weapons? He doubted any weapon could scratch that shield. Cyrus' pride told him to stand his ground, but he wasn't stupid. He had to run.

Cyrus turned on his heels and dashed away from the fight.

"Oh come on, that's no fun." Bounty called after him.

Cyrus had to get back to Trovius and Rodger. They had to get away from the desert town before Bounty or his henchmen could catch up.

Blades whirled by his head, sticking into a circle shape in front of him. The light of a transmutation flashed under his feet and something forced Cyrus into the air. Rock wrapped around his arms and legs, halting his escape.

"Gotcha." Snickered the monkey girl, who slowly returned to human form. She seemed Xingese in descent, having the narrow eyes and light skin of the easterners. She had tattooed markings of Alkahestry all over her body where her fur had been.

"Nice work, babe," Bounty said.

His shield came down and he placed an arm around the Xingese woman. She leaned into Bounty's chest, never looking away from Cyrus with her mocking smile.

"I owed him for knocking out my brother." She said.

Bounty strolled up to Cyrus, who struggled violently against the stone restraints. The stone began to crack, and the girl was quick to reinforce whatever broke.

"Hey, calm down, brother. I only want to talk." Bounty insisted.

"I'm not your brother!" Cyrus cried.

"Such a temper." Bounty walked circles around Cyrus before coming to a stand in front of him. "Let's make things even. I showed you my weak points. Its time you showed me yours."

Cyrus spat in Bounty's face, but he didn't seem to care. Bounty's hardened claws formed on his hands. He swiped Cyrus' shirt open.

Cyrus tried to wriggle away, but the restrains were too tight. Then Bounty's hand ran over Cyrus' bare stomach. His clawed fingers snaked up and pulled away the buttoned shirt from Cyrus' shoulders. Searching.

"Here we are," Bounty said.

Cyrus' breath hitched in his throat as Bounty circled the nodes and lines on his back.

"And what about the tattoo, do you have an Ouroboros?"

Cyrus couldn't focus. Bounty had rested a thumb over the node on his mid spine.

The woman approached, peeking around Bounty's hand to give Cyrus a mocking grin. "What makes these weak points, do they hurt?"

Cyrus locked his jaw and stared straight ahead.

"Terribly," Bounty said. "Feels like a concussion. Something like he gave your brother."

"He started it." Cyrus said.

Bounty slammed his open palm onto Cyrus' node. It took everything he had in him to not scream out. Pain exploded through his body, light danced in front of his eyes. The world spun, Cyrus feeling the stone pulse hard in his chest, pounding in his ears.

The woman smiled in amusement at Cyrus' agony.

Cyrus managed to glare through his bangs at Bounty. "Go to hell," he panted.

Bounty sighed. He turned to the woman hanging off his hip and nodded. Cyrus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to return. To his surprise, the rock around his arms and legs broke away. Cyrus fell to his hands and knees. He was too weak to stand.

Bounty knelt to Cyrus' level. "Come on, let's talk. There's a lot of things I've been trying to figure out. I was created in this area. That's why I'm protective over it. The alchemist that created me was a no-show for my birthday, and every day since. This place is all I have. You can appreciate that right?"

Cyrus pursed his lips. He would not, could not say a word.

Bounty continued. "You see, I have a few memories from a different life. The most prominent is this one of some chick in a doorway. She shoved me and two other poor bastards out of this dark place. Then, I woke up here, all by my lonesome self. Is any of that familiar?"

Bounty smiled. Cyrus' face must have betrayed him.

"By any chance, were you one of those blokes?" Bounty asked.

Cyrus breathed, staring into Bounty's face hovering in front of his own. Bounty had the same vision of Cyrus' mother. So then Bounty was one of these others he saw. He couldn't help but feel disappointed that one of his homunculus brothers was such a prick.

"You are, aren't you?" Bounty smiled, and tapped Cyrus' cheek. "That's great! Do you know where the other guy is? What about the chick in the doorway? Have you run into her?"

Cyrus did nothing but glare. He was going to stand his ground, even if it killed him.

"You aren't going to cooperate are ya?" Bounty stood from his kneeling position. "Alright, well then sorry in advanced for this, kid. I'm not losing a lead. Shani, you have ten seconds after I knock him out before he wakes back up."

"Got it, babe," the woman licked her lips.

Bounty's right hand turned into solid rock as it pulled back to collide with Cyrus' head.

Red light flashed as Cyrus willed himself to shift. Bounty gasped, when he saw his tattooed girlfriend Shani in place of Cyrus.

"what the-"

Before Bounty could finish, Cyrus smiled behind his stolen face and jumped up. He kicked Bounty hard in the head before he could activate his shield. Then, he swept the real Shani's feet out from under her, taking satisfaction in the thud her head made as she smacked the ground.

Cyrus dashed from the scene, running through Xerxes' broken streets. Cyrus transformed back into his preferred form.

He heard Bounty hollering in the distance. "He can shape shift! That's awesome! Quick catch up to him!"

Cyrus growled, running as fast as he could back through the ruins to get Trovius and Rodger.

The moment he arrived at the shade tree, Cyrus knew something was wrong. Rodger's car was gone. They hadn't planned on leaving for another few hours and they wouldn't have left without telling him. The area where the car had been was a mess of human tracks, which would have taken more than two men to make.

"Trovius! Rodger!" Cyrus' voice echoed off the decrepit buildings.

It felt like his stone dropped into his stomach when he saw among the tracks what looked like large wolf prints. Cyrus glared back in the direction of the distant village.

With a yell of frustration Cyrus dashed out of the ruins. His destination was Bounty's town. He mentally prepared himself for the fight that awaited him when he arrived.


	17. Chapter 17

It didn't take long for Cyrus to narrow down the location of Bounty and his crew. Most of the people in town avoided the dirty alleyway for its seedy and dangerous characters. Cyrus considered himself lucky that he only had to knock out one person who tried to mug him on the way.

He arrived at a decrepit old bar, the sign over the door barely clinging to the dirty wall. He spotted Rodger' new car parked in the back, and he knew he had the right place. After pushing aside a muscular guard who tried to stop him Cyrus made his way into the building. No drunk patron bothered turning at his loud entrance. He acknowledged it wasn't even a place Boamos would frequent. The two alchemists weren't in the main front bar, so he turned to the fuming bouncer he had pushed.

"Listen brat, you-" the man began, grabbing Cyrus' shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain as Cyrus snatched the offending hand and bent it back at an unnatural angle.

Glaring through his bangs Cyrus hissed, "Where is Bounty?"

"W-what you want with the boss?" the man growled. Cyrus was almost ready to snap the man's wrist before a memory of Trovius' voice was in his ear. _"You must be careful with us humans my dear boy, there is a great power imbalance between us."_ He had told him once. Cyrus mentally rolled his eyes as if the old alchemist was there nagging him.

"Are you a chimaera?" Cyrus asked.

"No, but-" Cyrus let go of his hand and instead shoved him backwards to the ground.

"Saves you a broken wrist. Bounty, where is he?" He demanded. When the man didn't answer Cyrus punched a hole in the stone wall, covering the shocked man in stone dust.

"H-H-He's in the back room at the end of the hall." The man whimpered. The man and many others watched in terror as Cyrus marched out of the dingy place and into the open door to the left. A long half-lit hall stretched out in front of him. He made his way to the final steel door at the end where two other men were waiting. When he ignored them they burst into beasts. Cyrus smiled deviously as they no longer had the excuse of being human. He threw them both out of the way, leaving distinct imprints in the wall.

The locked door didn't provide much of a challenge as he ripped the knob off and shoved the barrier aside. Cyrus' face turned even colder as Bounty sat at a table, giving him an innocent wave. Bounty wasn't the only familiar face. The three chimaeras who he fought in the ruins sat in their human forms, bruised in the corner. Shani was with her brother, holding an ice pack to her head and returning Cyrus' glare.

When Cyrus failed to kill her with his gaze his attention turned to the two alchemists. They were across from Bounty, seeming unharmed. "I can't go for a ten minute walk without having to worry about you two getting kidnapped?" Cyrus growled at the two men.

"Cyrus," Trovius said after ignoring his cold greeting. "This man is-"

"I know who he is," Cyrus barked, soon turning his full attention to the smiling homunculus at the table. "And I don't know how to make it any clearer to you. I want nothing to do with whatever the hell you're up to." He hissed at Bounty.

Bounty laughed at the comment. "Cool it Cy, I want to talk. You know you're damn lucky to have had these two guys all this time. I had to figure everything out on my own." he snickered, pushing a chair out with his foot in an attempt to offer Cyrus a seat.

Cyrus remained standing, instead turning back to Trovius and Rodger. "We're leaving."

"We cannot miss this opportunity," Rodger stated with a stern gaze. "Bounty is one of the men you saw in the portal, and he could help us."

Cyrus scoffed at that concept. "He doesn't know anymore then I do, he's worthless."

Bounty ignored him, turning back towards Trovius to reinstate their previous conversation. "So do you think the chick in the light doorway was my creator?" When Roger gave a confident nod Bounty beamed a smile. "Can't wait to meet her. I'm sure she can't wait either to see her favorite kid."

The innocent comment flew right over Trovius and Roger, but Cyrus' vision turned red. Bounty had said it with a halfway glace towards him. He could feel the stone pulse hot and fast in his chest. ' ** _Bounty_** , her favorite?' He thought. The room became blurry as his jealous rage engulfed everything around him. Everything aside from Bounty's smug face. 'She's MY mother!'

Cyrus sidestepped the Chimaeras that tried to stop him on his way across the room to decapitate their boss. Bounty's chair smashed into splinters when it hit the wall as its occupant jumped to avoid Cyrus' attack. Bounty was laughing, circumventing Cyrus' trying to land a killing blow to his temple. The smug man didn't raise his shield, having fun taunting his attacker.

A gentle hand landed on Cyrus' shoulder, and when he turned he was glad he didn't rip it off. Trovius' eyes were pleading with him. "Calm yourself my boy. Please." He said, gripping Cyrus' shoulders. Glancing past him he saw Bounty, his lips pulled back in a smile. Cyrus growled, but Trovius stepped into his line of vision. "Cyrus, you have searched for him for so long." He reminded him.

"Yes, and then I met him." Cyrus countered.

"There is no danger son," Roger assured him, his hands gripping a paper on the table. "Finding Bounty has helped us I promise." The old alchemist stood to present the picture to him. Cyrus managed to rip his focus away from Bounty to look at the familiar pattern. It looked like the transmutation circle Cyrus was found in, but it differed in its outer circles. He was far too angry to guess what this meant, so Roger elaborated for him. "This is Bounty's circle, and Trovius and I have deciphered the outer circles. It is a map of sorts, and we were able to find your own pattern in his, and vice versa. With this we can find the third Homunculus, and may even reactivate the area and return to its source."

Cyrus' anger evaporated. They could find his mother with Bounty's worthless circle? All they needed was the last one and he could have her back, and even his memories.

"Not so worthless now eh Cy?" Bounty said.

Cyrus shot him a glare, but forced himself to focus on the two alchemists. "How soon can you find the other Homunculus?" He asked.

"With Bounty's help, much faster than before." Roger said.

Cyrus grimaced at the thought, but his mother's face was burning behind his eyes.

"So will you come with us?" Trovius asked Bounty.

The question caught Cyrus off guard. "No!" he gasped, looking at Trovius as if he had betrayed him. Cyrus couldn't imagine Bounty in his caravan. He was the special one who could shape shift into anything and still scare Boamos out of a drunken stupor to Florica's amusement.

Bounty's chuckle cut them both off. "As fun as a road trip with my bro sounds, I intend to stick around for a bit. Can't let these idiots hold down the fort without me. And in truth, I'm staying next to Xing, because something is there that I forgot. Maybe my ma went there. Who knows. But… If something comes up, I'll catch up to ya."

Cyrus sighed a breath of relief. "Great, then give him a phone number and let's go!" He said, grabbing Trovius and Roger by the arms.

"Wait!" objected one of the Chimaera. "Didn't you say you would answer questions we had?" he asked of Roger.

"I did." He said, giving Cyrus a smile before explaining. "We were hardly kidnapped son. I agreed to share my chimaera research with this group. They are victims of the military's experimentation during the war. I can't leave them with questions. I am not the countries more renowned Chimaera researcher for nothing you know." He bragged, fluffing his coat. Cyrus shoulders slumped, looking at Trovius in protest.

As usual he was useless. Cyrus made quick work of packing up Roger's car with their findings so he wouldn't have to be in the same room as Bounty. In the trunk he paused, sitting cross-legged to look at Bounty and his own arrays. "One more and I'll find you mom." He whispered, unfolding the letter from Edward Elric to read over it again. He would have to thank the faceless alchemist with a second letter, as the lead did help. The only side effect was Bounty.

"In hind sight I guess I expected someone more like me." Bounty snickered from the alley. Cyrus startled, dropping the papers in a heap.

"What do you want?" Cyrus hissed, collecting the documents and filing them out of sight.

"Saying good-bye, at least for now. You know I was thinking on your old man's offer to come with you." He said.

Cyrus almost gagged on the thought. "And?" he asked through his teeth.

"Haven't decided yet. But if putting up with your brattish tantrums will bring me closer to what I need to know then maybe it is worth it."

'Deep breath.' Cyrus thought. He gripped his hands together to keep them from shifting into blades to decapitate Bounty.

"You wouldn't mind if I dropped in for a visit right?" he asked, and Cyrus could feel Bounty's smirk burning a hole in the back of his head.

"I'd rather skin myself with a potato peeler." Cyrus offered finally, shoving a suitcase a little too hard into the trunk of the car.

Bounty burst out laughing. "Good talk bro. We'll be in touch."

"Not if I can help it." Cyrus called over his shoulder, happy to hear Bounty leaving. He rolled his eyes when the foot fall stopped in the doorway to the bar. 'Why won't he leave?'

"One more thing I swear… Does the "Promised Day" mean anything to you?" Bounty asked.

Cyrus' blood went cold. His thoughts flew to the vision of the screaming man dying. He almost saw the decrepit man in shadow speaking of the very thing Bounty said. "The what?" Cyrus scoffed, blowing off the question, but didn't turn. His face would give away his lie.

Bounty was casual as he spoke. "I had this other vision once, and it doesn't fit with any of the visions of mom or you in the doorway of light. This old geezer, who gives me the creeps by the way, is talking about the Promised Day. I have no clue what it's all about. I wondered if you know anything."

"Never heard of it." Cyrus said. Bounty snickered, not believing him. Even still he didn't speak again, wandering back inside and leaving Cyrus shaken. He tried to suppress that memory. He knew it was significant, but he didn't want to give it more merit then the memories of his mother. She was hopeful as she brought Cyrus, Bounty and the third homunculus back to life from the darkness. This other memory, the one with the man…it was dark, old, and withered but still dangerous.

When the alchemists were ready to leave Cyrus once again did not mention a word about it to either of them. He didn't want to admit it was real.

* * *

"So how did it go?" Boamos asked. He glanced up at Cyrus who was still fuming as he returned to the camp with Trovius.

"It was a waste of time." Cyrus growled. Trovius and Roger had been yapping about Bounty until Roger parted ways with them in East city.

"It was remarkably informative!" Trovius added, ignoring Cyrus' sour mood. "No time to explain though. Roger is most likely already figuring out where the third sibling is." He said, rushing into the tent. This left Cyrus and Boamos, the latter of whom was too drunk to ask anything more.

When twilight fell Cyrus retrieved the beat up violin and went into the woods before anyone asked him where he was going. Sitting as high as he could get in a tree he strummed on the strings. He cursed, trying to balance the stained sheet music on a branch in front of him with Trovius' electric lantern hanging on a twig.

"The other homunculus will be better than him." Cyrus promised himself. He was still fuming, even so many days later. His thoughts turned to his mother. What she had been thinking when bringing Bounty back to life. Maybe she had to for one reason or another. Even more far-fetched, maybe he and Bounty got along in their old life. "Yeah right," Cyrus laughed at the idea.

The violin plucked a sharp tone, startling Cyrus out of his head. He had been pressing to hard and snapped many of the strings on his bow. "Damnit! Seriously?" he hissed, packing away the old piece of junk, once again wishing he had Boamos' crimson violin. 'That violin wouldn't have broken.' He grumbled in his mind.

"You ok?" Florica called from the ground. Cyrus peeked through the branches to see the girl straining to meet his gaze. "Trovius explained what happened." She added.

Cyrus didn't even have to roll his eyes, knowing that was inevitable. Jumping down with the case on his back, he tried to keep his face indifferent. "I'm disappointing is all. I don't know what I expected." He said.

"You were expecting someone to relate to and not an idiot?" She offered.

The comment made Cyrus laugh. "Yeah something like that. Better luck with the next one."

A smug smile formed on Florica's dark lips before she gave him a wink. "I'm sure you were your mom's favorite." She said. Cyrus matched her expression, happy to know someone agreed with him. He was sure they were both right.

"Thanks Florica…" he said, much calmer. He expected her to skip away, but Florica remained there. Waiting for a reply Cyrus stood, feeling rather awkward and not knowing why. "We should get back." He said to break the sudden tension.

Florica nodded, glancing down at her feet but returning a beaming grin. "Lead the way." She said, nudging his shoulder. "Ethelinda wants you to turn into a new animal they came up with by the way. I have seen the drawing and you may need to take some creative liberties." She snickered, Cyrus hardly noticing as her hand slipped into his own.

His nose wrinkled, the smell of smoke ruining whatever moment they were having. Florica had a similar reaction, her head turning from him to the camp. "Have they relit the fire, why is it so big?" She wondered.

"Boamos may have woken up and done that." Cyrus sighed, not liking the mental image of the drunk messing with a blazing fire. "We better stop him before he falls in."

Florica laughed, jumping onto Cyrus back to get a free ride back to the camp. The extra weight didn't bother him. Usually there were three kids on his back wanting a ride.

The darkness abruptly stopped in the camp, which glowed through the forest despite the late hour. The shadows of the trees danced with a red glow, the stars choked out of sight with white plumes of smoke.

When the heat hit Cyrus' face he stopped short. His lungs hurt and his heart beating out of control. He had to close his eyes to shield himself from the flames, the black eyed military man lurking into his mind after months of staying silent.

"It's not real." He said through his teeth. His skin was hot, threatening to roast. The smoke stabbed at his throat and singed his insides. He felt Florica jump from his back, yelling about something he couldn't hear. Was she angry at Boamos for causing his panic? "It's ok." He said.

He forced his eyes open, expecting the flames to be gone. The memories staled, pulling him back into reality. His flashback was gone, but the caravan was still engulfed in flames.


	18. Chapter 18

Hello all. Sorry for the late update times. Long story short I lost my betta reader and my editor. Not forever, they are pregnant and crazy sick, but without them I am unsatisfied with the work coming out. :/ But, alas there is little I can do but edit it myself, and I still intend to send out chapters, even if they are slightly unpolished. I hope everyone's year had been going well, mine has been interesting to say the least. For those asking for more characters from the show, I think you will be happy with what is coming. So with all that said I hope you enjoy. Happy reading.

* * *

Screams that were not his own rang out over the roaring flames. Tents went up like oil soaked rags and wagons creaked against the inferno. Cyrus's body shook when his back hit the hard bark of a tree. He closed his eyes, willing the vision away. Each time he blinked it refused to leave. The fire was real.

His feet remained locked to the dirt. Only his eyes could follow the horror. People scrambled to free themselves from tents before they collapsed into burning piles. Blue light fought against the red angry glow. Cyrus saw Trovius transmuting dirt into the flames to extinguish them. Some men were tossing small bucket's full of water.

The back of one of the men's shirts caught on fire. Cyrus watched him struggle to rip it off his body before the flames started to bit into his flesh. Cyrus wanted to move. He had to help Trovius, or slap Boamos awake who was too drunk to register the danger. He was frozen.

 _"_ _You coward!"_

The dark eyed man's voice jolted Cyrus from the tree. He turned to the forest, tripping into the ground when the tunnels were stretching before him. "Not real." Cyrus whimpered, pressing his hands hard into his ears.

 _"_ _How ugly."_ The man said over Cyrus. He flinched at his closeness. He could hear the man's boots stop behind him, and all he could wait for was the fire to consume him.

"Mom!" Florica's panicked yell cut through the vision. Cyrus gasped, choking on the smoke. The caravan was still burning behind him where the dark eyed man stood. Cyrus pushed his protesting muscles to stand. He shoved passed the shadow of the military man and the tunnels vanished. He ignored his instinct to run. He pushed into the caravan, seeing Florica flailing at her tent's walls consumed in fire. Her mother and uncle Camlo were trapped inside. Despite Florica's dress starting to catch she clawed at the fabric to save her family.

Cyrus grabbed Florica by the arm and flung her away from the deadly flames. Before she could curse at him he took the wood and fabric and ripped it apart with ease. Flames licked at his arms, white hot pain biting into him. Gritting his teeth he reached for the huddled forms inside the structure and yanked them out.

The red light had only started to heal his wounds when Cyrus turned his attention to Florica. She was struggling to get her skirt untied as the flames consumed the bottom of her dress. Cyrus fell next to her and ripped the affected fabric away, the skin on his hands screaming in protest. He ignored it when he saw the red bubbling patterns snaking up Florica's feet. No red light cam to fix her skin.

"Here!" Boamos was there with a bucket of water, and he splashed the water onto the burns.

Despite her pain Florica gazed at Cyrus through her singed hair. "Thank you." She said, holding onto her coughing mother and Uncle Camlo.

Cyrus managed a nod, but his thoughts turned to Trovius. He found the alchemist still struggling against the fire with his alchemy. He was winning with help from the caravan men. Those not paling water were on the outskirts of the clearing. They looked on coughing or crying as the flames ate up their homes.

Glass shattered to Cyrus' right, and another tent caught fire. He heard what no one else did. The bottle's broken glass still flaming from the combustible liquid it contained. It took him a moment to put together what he saw. From the woods another bottle flew, a burning rag acting as a wick down the bottle neck. Cyrus stood, his senses zeroing in on the three shadows almost hidden in the trees. Almost hidden.

"Someone…did this." He said. If anyone questioned his statement he did not hear them. Rage turned his mind and vision red, the surface of his skin boiling. Cyrus tore from the group, his stone pulsing hard in his chest. The attack paused, the three shadows saw him approaching fast.

He heard the laughter of men turn to panic. "Saw us!" And all three bolted into the trees. They were staying together, which was their mistake. 'I'll kill them!' Cyrus thought, closing the distance between his pray. Their panic was audible, and a loud bang hurt his ears. Hot pressure hit his arm, but he only stumbled. The bullet expelled from his healing wound before he started running again. "I hit them!" one yelled, turning again to shoot into the darkness. They missed, and Cyrus snatched a rock from the ground and launched it at the shooter. The crack of an impact brought him down.

The other two continued, and Cyrus did not intend to let any of them escape. He shifted his body, the four legged dog he became catching up to the second man much faster. Sinking his teeth into the man's leg blood exploded in his mouth, highlighted by the pained shriek. The taste of iron stung his tongue, but he still bit hard until he heard the leg break. Two were immobile. One left.

His claws dug into the dirt to propel him into the air. Cyrus transformed back into his human form as he tackled the third man into the ground. It was too dark to see his face, but the man's fear was palpable. A bullet hit Cyrus in the neck. His' vision went white, the pain clawing at his neck. Despite it he held onto the man. His sight returned as he healed. The light of his regeneration illuminated the horrified eyes of the man under him.

The gun clanked to the ground, and Cyrus grabbed it. He pressed the barrel to the man's forehead. His insides were boiling, the taste of blood still between his teeth.

"W-what the hell are you?" the man gasped.

Cyrus' mind jolted, his focus losing the man in his sights.

 _The buzz of an electric lamp post in a park hummed. A pay phone's receiver hung from a dangling cord._

 _"_ _You look surprised." He laughed, looking down the barrel pointed at his target. He could feel the smile pulling his lips._

 _"_ _What the hell are you?!" the cornered man gasped, his hand hesitant to release his blade to save his own life._

 _The gun shot shook the quiet park._

Cyrus dropped the gun, stumbling off the man on the ground. The terrified human wasted no time scrambling to his feet. "Monster!" He yelled, limping into the trees. Cyrus remained in the dark trembling. He heard the other two men he injured struggling to drag themselves away. After the strange memory Cyrus didn't have the strength to follow.

Thoughts of the caravan pulled him to his feet. Without the attackers the fires would stop. At a pitiful pace Cyrus shuffled back to camp.

The fires were out on each tent and wagon, but whimpers were still audible. Cyrus spotted Trovius kneeling before Florica, his healing alchemy running over her feet. The doctor had his work cut out for him.

"Are you ok?" Shelta asked Cyrus, her arm coming to rest on his shoulder. He yanked away from her, his body still ready to fight. He recognized her aged face even covered in soot, and soon his shoulder fell. He didn't protest when her hands rubbed up and down his shoulders in a comforting away.

"I couldn't kill them." He said. This fact ashamed him to admit. Shelta pulled him into an embrace, and he didn't fight it. "Why us?" was all he could ask of those who attacked.

"Because there are many who hate us for who we are. They see us as outsiders, and that threatens them. We will not change who we are. Not for people like them." She promised, patting his back. He allowed her to lead them back to Trovius, who gave Cyrus a worried look.

"They saw me." Cyrus informed Trovius with a cold star.

"We will be leaving first thing in the morning." Trovius said, his eyes tiered. Cyrus almost expected a lecture. The old doctor gave Cyrus a defeated smile. "If they go into town yelling about you then that would give away what they did. We are in no danger because of you my dear boy." He promised.

Cyrus was silent but he still helped salvage what they could. He had dropped the crappy violin by the woods and Boamos' wagon was spared with all his instruments. Cyrus sat staring at the crimson violin, thankful it was unharmed. Blue light lit the night and early morning. Men were chopping down trees and piling them around burnt wagons so Trovius could transmute them. They left behind what they couldn't fix.

* * *

Everyone left him alone as they headed for the west, because he was silent the whole trip. He overheard Trovius assuming it was due to his fear of fire. That of course didn't help matters, but the true cause of his isolation was the vision he had. The man in the telephone booth, dressed in military garb and his eyes hesitant to defend himself. Cyrus saw it through his own eyes, so he was the one holding the gun. Had he killed someone in his first life? It wasn't like he was incapable of it. He had indented to rip those three attackers apart…but he had been provoked. He was protecting his family. Trovius wasn't even mad at him for blowing his cover.

He clicked his tongue, laying in the back of Boamos' wagon and closing his eyes. He intended to bury the thought. It was yet another vision he didn't indent to share.

"Cyrus!" Trovius exclaimed, startling him out of his nap. They had stopped, and no one had woken him until now.

"Damn! W-what?" Cyrus stammered, not prepared for the doctor's enthusiastic smile a foot from his face.

"First, watch your language." Trovius scolded, but continued before Cyrus could get annoyed. "I walked into town to call Roger. I told him that I will be behind in our research because of the incident yesterday. But Cyrus he has heard something! There have been whispers in military command of an undying alchemic person in a western town. It has to be your other sibling! We are closer to this town then he is. One train stop over and we will be there!" He explained.

Cyrus stammered, glancing around the new camp location to get his bearings. They were closer to a dusty town he didn't know the name of. He had almost no time to process the new information before Trovius was packing his things for him.

"But the caravan," Cyrus said, grabbing his bag from the doctor. "What if it's attack?"

Boamos tapped the side of the wagon with his riffle to get their attention. "Then I'll shoot 'em. I was to drunk yesterday. I'm ready now." He promised.

"This town is safer." Trovius was quick to say. "We have never had such problems here…but yes, I suppose we can count on you Boamos…if you stay sober. It will be good to give your liver a rest."

Boamos laughed, "I never said anything about being sober."

Cyrus was still hesitant. He had to find his sibling. If the military was in this town then his sibling was in danger of being captured. But the image of Florica's burning legs sent a shiver up his spine.

"Give me a minute." Cyrus said flustered, jumping out of the wagon. He was on the outskirts of the camp and ended up pacing for an hour around the circumference of it. The missing wagons and tents made him even more uneasy, wondering if he would return to a pile of ash. Without Trovius' healing alchemy, would Florica have died? Camlo and Florica's mother would be dead if Cyrus hadn't ripped the tent open to free them. Now they were both leaving.

"Don't worry about us Cyrus." Florica said. He stopped, and she bumped into his back. She had been struggling to catch up to him. His eyes fell to her legs, small bandages wrapping her bare feet and ankles. She was healed, but Trovius said her new skin was still delicate.

Cyrus wrinkled his nose at the sight, his stomach twisting as it did whenever he saw it. "How can I not?"

"Because Boamos has remarkable aim, even when drunk. You have heard him play the violin even when he can't talk. Aunt Shelta and half the camp can shoot too. We will be fine." She said.

"But…" He began to protest.

Florica embraced him, and Cyrus went rigged. "Then if you don't trust everyone else, trust me. We humans aren't completely worthless. I want to meet your sibling, the good one, not Bounty. How can I do that if the military captures them?"

Cyrus couldn't help but laugh. He knew he had to go, but Florica was one of the main things keeping him in camp. She looked up into his face to give him a smile. "But come back soon. Whenever you leave I worry about you to. Don't you get captured by the military."

He nodded, giving her a confident grin. "I promise. I'll start worrying when my imaginary black eyed military man becomes real." He took a step back but she didn't let him go. He laughed, but swallowed when he saw the serious look in her eyes, staring up at him. His stomach felt weightless. He wrapped his arms around her to reciprocate the embrace.

Lightheaded and feeling his face flush he pulled away to see her pretty tan face in a similar state. She was so pretty, but he wasn't jealous of her. No matter how he shifted his form he would never be her kind, rambunctious self. He didn't mind, because he already had her.

Florica stood on her toes, and without thinking he leaned down to meet her lips. Their kiss tasted sweet, like her smile mixed with apples. His stomach still felt weightless. His skin felt hot, an uncomfortable embarrassment creeping into his throat.

He pulled away as gently as possible, Florica blinking when they were separated. Their flushed cheeks mirrored each other, and Cyrus was relived he wasn't the only one. She licked her lips, giving him an awkward smile. "Now you have to come back… so we can practice and make later kisses less awkward."

"Deal." He said, his own answer surprising him. The hole at the center of his being was easier to ignore, more so when he was looking at Florica. At the beginning of his life affection of any kind made him react as if he were being touched with acid. Now he fought against that feeling, embracing his families touch. He would reciprocate smiles at tender moments, feeling it change him.

Florica's shy smile made him forget his dark inner thoughts. It distracted from his few memories that kept him from sleeping in fear of having night terrors. Their kiss, uncomfortable as it was, made him forget it all.

He left with Trovius that day, lingering in Florica's presence for a while longer. She walked with them to the train station. From the window he saw her chasing after the train until she ran out of platform. When she was out of sight he bound his hands together tight. 'Why am I leaving?' he thought, turning again to try and catch a glimpse of the town. He was going out in search of people he didn't know, leaving the only family he ever knew behind.

He made a promise to himself that this trip would be a short one. He would find his sibling, learn more of his mother, and then return to his true family, and Florica.


	19. Chapter 19

The moment they arrived in West City, Cyrus' stomach sank. The station was crawling with armed military men. Every blue uniformed man was alert. The soldiers were asking the conductor of the train endless questions.

With ducked heads Cyrus and Trovius made their way out of the station and into the town. Twilight was beginning to paint the tops of the stacked stone apartment buildings. Ominous storm clouds rumbled, darkening the sky further. Few automobiles occupied the roads, but large military trucks roared by.

"All this because they think a homunculus is here?" Cyrus whispered. His hands remained balled into fists in his pockets. His nervousness wasn't helped by Trovius' jumpy demeanor.

"They are weary of your kind." Trovius said, quieter than a murmur. "I'm sure the events that almost killed everyone in the country is still fresh in their minds."

Cyrus wrinkled his nose but didn't ask more. He kept a sharp eye on the crowd, feeling hopeless. He wondered how he was going to spot his sibling without knowing what they looked like. Bounty found him, but he was hopeful his new sibling was nothing like Bounty.

"How did the military find out about my sibling anyway?" Cyrus said when they were alone again; heading for a hotel Roger had booked for them.

Trovius was hesitant to answer him. "Once we get to the hotel, I need to tell you something Cyrus. I didn't want you to worry for your sibling." Trovius said.

Cyrus grabbed him by the arm. "You know I'm not patient. What is it?" Cyrus said.

Trovius pursed his lips, but sitting on a park bench he continued in a whisper. "Roger received word from an inner military friend that the undying creature was not spotted here. They escaped from military custody around this town."

"The military already had my sibling?" Cyrus said, his eyes wide. "How long were they a prisoner? What did the military do to them?"

Trovius shushed him, eyeing a group of curious passerby's. "We have no idea how long they were in military custody or what the military did to them. That is why we need to find them before the any soldiers does. But please Cyrus… you are in danger of capture too. I had no idea there would be this much of a military presence."

"I'm not going home if that's what your about to insinuate." Cyrus said with a curt glare. He would be damned if the military ruined another chance of finding his siblings and his mother. "I won't get caught. I'm not stupid enough to shift in the middle of the town square." He added. "And I promised Florica I would come back.' He thought, having to turn so Trovius didn't see him blush.

"Very well. Once at the hotel I can contact Roger and inquire what leads he has received." Trovius said, standing from the bench and carrying on down the road. Cyrus now eyed the blue uniformed men in a new hateful way. He would shift in public if he had to fight the military off himself and his sibling.

Cyrus stumbled when Trovius grabbed his arm and tugged off the sidewalk into the park. "What the hell-?" Cyrus began to protest, stopping short when he saw the sweat on Trovius' forehead.

"State Alchemist!" Trovius said in a panic, dragging Cyrus down the grassy trail. "Worse than that they are one of the one's from the coup d'etat! He's a homunculus killer! We need to get you out of here!"

Cyrus tried to look over his shoulder to see the man Trovius was fleeing from. All he saw was a group of military men looking up at a tall one with a reflective bald head. "Wouldn't he know more about my sibling then the others?" Cyrus asked.

"Yes but it is not worth asking him! I'm no match for a State Alchemist of any rank let alone a promoted Lieutenant Colonel! We need to-" Cyrus didn't stick around to hear Trovius' suggestion. He shifted his wrist to slip out of Trovius' grasp, leaving him holding his trench coat. "Cyrus!" He heard behind him as he dashed back towards the road. He peeked around a tree at the group of soldiers, his focus on the tall man. The State Alchemist's voice carried over the crowd. His massive arms crossed at his chest, showing off the silver alchemic gantlets on each hand.

Before he could talk himself out of the insane plan Cyrus pulled off his human clothes. He stood in his born in black clothes. Thanks to his nightmares of the black eyed man, he knew the

Amestrian military uniform well. His black clothes shifted and turned blue with red alchemic light and his skin changed to a human tone. He shortened his hair and lightened it to a slicked back blond. Mid-twenty year old, blue eyed blond hair male. A stereotypical Amestrian soldier who wouldn't stand out.

His Stone pulsed fast in his chest, but he masked his nervousness with a calm expression. At a human pace he walked up to the crowed of soldiers. As he hoped, no one did more than glance up at him for a moment. The focus was on the large State Alchemist who had his back to the group. The State Alchemist had a radio phone to his ear. His deep voice was barking questions to someone on the other line through a bush of a mustache.

"I came from the station," Cyrus said to a soldier with a low rank.

"The reinforcements from Pendleton?" The man asked.

"Yes." Cyrus lied. "Anything new?" He asked.

The man shook his head, seeming exasperated. "Nothing… Since the creature jumped the train we have only gotten a few sightings. Of course it's gone when we get there. If only the damn thing had made it to the Brigg's drop off point. Those soldiers are crazy, it never would have escaped."

Cyrus nodded as if he knew what he was talking about. "Now we are waiting for word from Command. I hope they don't send any more State Alchemists… Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong is enough. The last thing this situation needs is more ego." He said in a whisper.

Cyrus laughed when the man cracked a smile. "Very true. Who else you think they will send?" He asked. He adjusted the fake gun he had shifted on his shoulder, trying hard to remain casual.

"Well word is the Ice Queen is making her way down from Briggs…but god I hope not. If we don't find the damn thing by the time she gets here she'll kill us. I don't know if this is worse but they say they may bring in General Mustang from Central Command. Though we would drowned in the bastard's ego he would get the job done. They will only bring him in if we get orders to kill the creature. For now they still want it alive. Though it would be interesting to see the Ice Queen and the Flame Alchemist butt heads."

Before Cyrus could inquire more the Lieutenant Colonel stirred. He straitened even taller in response to the orders on the phone. "Good to hear. I will move my men out that way and comb the woods. We have the town under lock down so the citizens are safe. With your men on the other side moving in we will have it cornered between us. Yes, I understand… contact me after you respond to Command. But… Just… whatever they say, let's not involve my sister in this."

A few men around Cyrus snickered, overhearing the comment. Inside Cyrus was screaming. His sibling was cornered on all sides by two armies. Once he overheard the exact location he would have to beat both groups to his sibling and make it out the same way.

Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong hung up the phone, turning to face the men. They all stood at attention, Cyrus two beats behind. "Alright men! Squad three stay's here to keep a perimeter around the town. The last thing we need it for the target to slip and head for civilians. The rest are with me!" He jumped into the back of the canvas truck, Cyrus breaking off to follow him.

Cyrus needed to focus. Despite his best efforts to remain invisible he couldn't stop staring at the Lieutenant Colonel. True, the man was an oddity, but that wasn't what bothered him. He was hauntingly familiar. He wasn't the black eyed soldier in the tunnels, not by a long shot, but he reminded Cyrus of him. He fought to keep the memories down. He itched at his fake clothes when his skin tingle, recalling the inferno consuming him.

"Haven't see you before Private." Cyrus froze when he realized the State Alchemist was talking to him. 'It is because you were staring a hole through his head! I'm an idiot.' Cyrus thought to himself.

Cyrus said the first thing that came to mind. "Edward. Private Edward, Sir. I'm the backup from Pendleton. "

The Lieutenant Colonel seemed confused, and Cyrus' stomach twisted. "Major Arthur didn't want you on the east front?" He asked.

"He thought you could use more men on the west." He said, trying to sound confident. 'Please don't check.' He thought.

"Well we could always use more of that." Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong agreed.

"You have dealt with these creatures before Lieutenant Colonel. Do you have any pointers?" A soldier asked of the massive man. Cyrus was thankful for the interruption. It took the attention off of him.

"I have…Though many of you men don't have clearance to know much about them. It is your right to know before we go blazing after it. I will answer the first unanswered question. Yes it is a nearly undying creature that will be very hard to kill. But, killing the creature is not our mission. That is something I have also disagreed with command about…but orders are orders. Aim fire towards the legs to immobilize the creature, same with the joints. Once on the ground I will recapture it with Alchemy.

From there, we keep a circular formation around the cage until it is aboard the awaiting train. Ten men will have eyes on it at all times in the box car on the way up north. Once at the new laboratory at Briggs fortress it will be secure. Trust me, General Olivier will assure it doesn't escape again." He explained.

Cyrus felt the unease around them and Armstrong's bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Remember men, there are over one hundred of us humans against one of it. We will recapture it." He promised.

'One hundred of you humans against the two of us.' Cyrus corrected in his mind. He dug his nails into his palms, hoping the pain would curb his anxiety. Armstrong found his gaze again, and Cyrus forced his hands to relax before he drew blood. His regenerating palms would blow his already flimsy cover. "At ease Private." He said. Cyrus must have looked terrible. He managed a nod.

Armstrong raised an eyebrow, and then shot up in his seat. Cyrus wasn't the only one startled. Before he could register what the man was doing Armstrong's decorated shirt was airborne. "Well then! If the pep talk could not raise my troop's spirits, then the sight of sculpted perfection will! Behold gentlemen!" He flexed his bulging muscles, and many men leaned away in the cramped space. "This body of solid steel is but one of the attributes passed down the Armstrong family line for generations! Does it not give you all the strength to take down a monster?"

Cyrus failed to holds back his disgusted and confused sneer. He looked around for some sort of explanation. The soldiers wore looks of announce rather than confusion. That begged the question, how often did the man do this? 'This guy is a Homunculus killer?' Cyrus thought.

The truck lurched to a stop not far where they started, and very unfortunately Armstrong didn't retrieve his shirt. He jumped out of the open back with all the men in tow. They were on the outskirts of town, two other trucks full of soldiers waiting. The sun was sinking, a forest swaying behind the group. In the darkening like it was unnerving and sent chills down Cyrus' spin.

An older military man approached Armstrong. He sneered at his lacking shirt but spoke despite the distraction. "We have the forest surrounded. It has nowhere to go." The man said.

Armstrong nodded, ordering his soldiers to secure the area. "No civilians near the woods! Close down this block!"

Cyrus risked a final glance then ducked behind the military truck. 'You need to beat the military to the woods. You need to find them first.' He thought, feeling the sweat accumulate on his brow. How he would do that was still a mystery to him. He sat still for a while, plotting. The soldiers couldn't take their trucks into the woods. Cyrus could shift into something with fast legs.

"Sir, please clear the area!" said a soldier.

"S-sorry! I'm only looking for my son." Trovius said. Cyrus found him in the crowed, looking winded but trying to get through. He must have seen Cyrus shift into a soldier and hurried after the truck. Cyrus jumped on the chance.

He walked by the soldier and grabbed Trovius by the arm. "I'll escort him outside the perimeter." He said, walking them away from the scene.

"Please sir, I'm looking-" Trovius began.

"You found me." Cyrus whispered in his normal voice. "Come on, I know where my sibling is."

Trovius startled. Once recovered, he was glaring a hole into the side of Cyrus' head. "Cyrus! Do you have any idea…After this you are grounded!" He hissed. Cyrus tried not to laugh at the comment as they hid in an ally. Still fuming Trovius threw the bundle of clothes at Cyrus, who shifted back into his normal self and got dressed.

"We will have a head start on them." Trovius said, digging in his bag the moment his hands were free. "While the military is wandering, I have Rogers Xingese Alchemic formula to follow." Cyrus watched Trovius pull out a small stack of papers that had arrays already drawn on them. He recognized two arrays, which were Bounty's and his own "birth Circles." A piece of carved metal went in the middle of the papers, and Trovius activated the array. The Groves in the metal gave off a faint flickering light. "It will ignore you and Bounty's Stone pulse, and will glow brighter the closer we get to your sibling."

"How long have you had a Homunculus tracker?" Cyrus asked.

"It is Roger's design, derived from Xingese Alchemy. He has been working on it the moment we returned from meeting Bounty. Though, he never had a chance to test these arrays…let's pray it works."

They had to run far down the street to get out of sight of the military. The clouds finally delivered what they had promised, and Cyrus was soon drenched in the rain. Though inconvenient, it did make it easier to hide from the military. They found one of the few spots not yet secured by the soldiers and slipped into the shadows of the trees.

Cyrus couldn't run as fast as he wanted with Trovius' slow pace, but he needed him to keep the array working. With the new downpour Trovius struggled to keep the papers dry in his coat.

"Cyrus," Trovius said between breaths. "In the event we are cornered, you take your sibling back to town while I will cause a distraction. They can't arrest me for practicing alchemy in the middle of the woods after all. Wait for me at the hotel." He ordered.

Cyrus wrinkled his nose at the plan. "Just don't get yourself shot." He said glancing over his shoulder to give the man a smirk. "Plus, how will I get a train ticket back without your wallet? I sure ain't going to walk ba-" Cyrus smashed into someone. The figure was in dark clothes, which made them almost invisible in the dark woods and rain. Both the shadowed man and Cyrus flew into the ground, splashing into mud. "Damnit…" Cyrus groaned and rubbed his head until the ach seeped out. He froze when he realized he wasn't the only one regenerating.

"Well that's one hell of a way to say hello, Cyrus." The other man chuckled.

The voice made Cyrus' skin crawl. Despite the dark he fixed a venomous onto Bounty. His smug brother stood from the ground, shaking his pants and sleeves off in the process. "After hours of searching in these woods I finally find a homunculus, though not the one I had in mind."

Cyrus stood up and spit on the ground. "What the hell are you doing here Bounty?" he said, glaring across the clearing at the sneering homunculus.

"I'd imagen it's the same reason you're here. I heard about some strange activity and came to investigate. Some undying creature escaped military custody. I assumed it was our missing homunculus." Bounty explained with an innocent smile. Cyrus scowled at the man, and then turned back to Trovius.

"Good luck with that then. Let's keep going Trovius." He said before marching towards the trees.

"Bounty, have you had any leads finding this other homunculus?" Trovius asked, almost causing Cyrus to trip in his hast to turn around.

"Don't ask for his help!" Cyrus growled.

"This is no time to be stubborn Cyrus. We can cover more ground with assistance." Trovius said back in his stern tone that drove Cyrus nuts.

"Listen to your old man Cyrus." Bounty teased. "The military is picking on our long lost friend, and I want to lend a hand." Cyrus pondered a nasty insult to throw back at him.

A child's blood curdling scream ripped through the darkness. The group, forgetting the tension between them, ran in the direction of the scream. Trovius fell behind as Cyrus and Bounty raced through the woods.

A light cut through the darkness, and Cyrus stumbled to a stop when they were almost on top of it. A small child, cloaked in a rain coat, held a lantern with shaking hands. The child was backing away from a tall lanky figure. On first glance, the stalking white person seemed human. A quick inspection debunked the first impression. Its naked body was chalky white, lacking reproductive organs of any kind. It was thin, and it walked in an unnatural crouched way.

Cyrus zeroed in on the red nodes running up and down the being's back. The creature paused as if sensing the new comers. Its head turned all the way around its body to see the two. Now he knew for curtain the thing wasn't human, but wasn't so sure it was a homunculus either. It had a single, massive eye and more energy lines on both sides of its face.

"What the hell is that thing?" Cyrus gasped.

At the sound of his voice it stirred. The creature spun around and rushed Cyrus and Bounty with an inhuman screech. Bounty's shield covered his hand and he raked his claws across the creature's throat. It stumbled, but didn't bleed. Unlike the two homunculi it's gash didn't regenerate.

"Ok…that was my plane, what's yours?" Bounty said to Cyrus.

The creature dashed at them again. Cyrus shifted his left arm into a blade and met it half way, stabbing through its stomach. The creature's single eye stared down at him, its teeth barred. He stabbed it again with his other hand, but it didn't flinch.

"You've got to be kidding me." Cyrus said. Even he felt pain when injured. The thing wasn't bothered by the two blades sticking out of its stomach and chest. Its gaping jaws snapped at Cyrus' throat. He managed to pull himself free from the creature before it could bit him.

"I can trap it!" Trovius yelled to the two as he came through the trees. "If you can keep it still I'll transmute something to hold it." It was a better plan then any.

Before they could implement Trovius' idea movement caught Cyrus' eye. A stranger appeared from the wood. "Abby!" said the new comer woman to the child who was still frozen with fear. The woman was obscured by a hood like the child. The young girl finally thawed at the sound of the woman's voice.

"Lorelei!" The girl cried, rushing towards the older woman. This demanded the creature's full attention as it raced for the two. The hooded woman gasped as she saw the inhuman being approach. She threw the child behind herself to shield them with her own body.

Bounty bashed the creature to the ground before it could reach them. He pinned it by its neck with his shielded arms. "Hey! Get your kid and get out of here!" He ordered while the creature snapped at him. The pale monster broke free and stumbled back to its feet. "Yo, doc! How's that transmutation coming?!" He yelled to Trovius who was busy drawing an array in the muddy earth.

"You have to keep it still, otherwise I'll miss!" Trovius explained again. He finished the circle and hovered his hands over it.

"Easier said than done." Cyrus sighed as the thing swiped at Bounty.

"Make sure not to trap me in with this thing either!" Bounty said as he dodged the flailing thing.

The creature spun again, it's wide eye focused on Trovius. It lunged for the alchemist.

"Damnit!" Cyrus said, running to get in-between them. Mid jump the creature lurched to a stop, its legs thrashing in the air. Five dark blades impaled the creature from behind.

Bounty jumped back in surprise. Cyrus was in a similar state. 'Is this Trovius' trap?' he thought. He looked to see the alchemist had yet to activate his array and instead looked on perplexed. The creature struggled to free itself from the five blades. Each spear ended many feet past the monster in deadly points. Cyrus looked past the struggling figure to see the woman and child still there. The daughter was hiding behind the hooded woman who stood with her arm raised straight. Cyrus approached, and saw her five fingers _were_ the blades.


	20. Chapter 20

"You needed the creature still didn't you?" the woman asked. Her voice was soft despite the situation. With her free hand she pulled her hood from her head, revealing pale, beautiful woman. Full lips, thin dark eyebrows, and long wavy black hair.

Trovius was the first to snap out of the shock. He placed his hands on the array and filled the woods with blue alchemic light. A cage of rock formed around the immobilized being. The woman retracted her blades and they returned to slender gloved fingers. The monster struggled, and the group could only observe it in silence.

The blade handed woman kneeled down to be eye level with the child. "Abby, are you ok?" she asked the trembling girl. She pulled the small hood off the child. The two were a stark contrast to each other. The girl had dark brown skin and thin dark hair pulled up in braids. The girl seemed around ten, and was still too scared to do much else but nod.

"So…thanks for the help." Bounty ventured, grabbing the woman's attention.

"You kept that thing away from Addy until I arrived. I should be thanking you." She said, though made no move to approach them.

Trovius stood from the ground, making his way over to Cyrus and Bounty. His attention was on the woman. "If I may," Trovius began. "You are a homunculus are you not?" he asked her.

The question made her stiffen. "They are to, right?" Her tone was almost accusing, motioning towards Bounty and Cyrus. It was obvious. She had seen Cyrus shifting his hands into weapons and Bounty still had his shield covering his arms.

"Nice to meet ya." Bounty said with a smile, his shield retracting. "The name's Bounty. This is my dear friend Cyrus," He introduced, earning a glare from Cyrus. "And this is Trovius, our alchemist."

"I'm Lorelei." She offered with a cautious smile. She approached the group, the young girl clinging to her waist as they walked. Lorelei was tall with a curvy figure. As she got closer Cyrus saw Lorelei's eyes were the same purple as his and Bounty's. She stopped as the caged creature continued to struggle. "So what exactly is this thing?" she asked no one inparticular.

Bounty clicked his tongue. "Well…we were under the impression this thing was a homunculus that escaped the military. That is apparently not the case."

Lorelei's gaze became far away. "That's why there are so many military men around town. They've been in a panic." The creature hissed, reaching its bony arms through the bars in an attempt to grab one of them.

"I wonder," Trovius said. His eyes narrowed in thought. "If this isn't one of those undying soldiers Rodger heard about." All eyes were on Trovius for an explanation. "Roger told me of them. Towards the end of the old regime, the military used its supply of Philosopher's Stones to create living dolls as an unstoppable army. They were uncontrollable, and they were all destroyed by the members of the Coup d'etat. Because of the secrecy, it was all here say." Trovius paused to stroke the stubble on his chin. "I would think they would keep one or two…for study. Though I can't imagen how they could allow it to escape. It must have been a serious lapse in judgment."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow at the comment. "So if we can't kill it what do we do?" he said, crossing his arms as he observed the doll soldier struggle. He got his answer by the sudden sounds of barking dogs and approaching engines. A multitude of lights began to cut through the darkness. It would seem the military was coming to try and make up for their mistake.

"Well, they let it go; mine as well let them deal with it." Bounty said before the group made a break for the trees. Lorelei scooped Abby up into her arms and Cyrus grabbed Trovius. The five dashed away before they were spotted.

"Follow me." Lorelei called to them. Bounty and Cyrus exchanged a glance but followed her nonetheless. The trees thinned and they arrived at the outskirts of the small town. They didn't stop running, but they did slow their inhuman pace so not to draw attention from the few people still out. Down the cobble stone roads and past the dark buildings Lorelei led them. She stopped at a brick townhouse in the middle of town. They followed her up the short staircase and she finally put the child down to unlock the door. Once inside they let out a collective sigh.

The small, cozy parlor they stood in was dim, but still bright enough to make out even more of Lorelei. Her skin was the same light pale as Cyrus' and Bounty's. She had red nodes running from the backs of her wrists to her upper arms.

Trovius gasped, making Cyrus turn, ready for a fight. His heart went in his throat when he saw the blue uniform hanging on the living room wall. Military metals decorated the coffee table. A silver State Alchemist pocket watch hung in a glass box on the wall.

"He's retired. And he knows about me." Lorelei assured them both, and then turned her full attention to the small girl. "Abby what were you thinking? You could have been killed!" Lorelei hissed at the young girl, once again down at eye level with her. Abby jumped at the sudden scolding, her green eyes beginning to pool with tears.

"I-I heard there was someone like you, and-I wanted to-" the girl tried to explain. "When you left I wanted to come with you."

"And what would you have done if these people or I hadn't gotten to you?" Lorelei demanded. Now Abby whimpered, finally collapsing into Lorelei's arms and sobbing into her hair.

Lorelei sighed and wrapped her arms around the girl. "Never scare me like that again." Lorelei made her promise. Soon her focus fell back on her guests. "Thanks again, for the help." She told them.

"We responded to word of an undying creature as well." Cyrus said. "We thought it would be a homunculus."

This made Lorelei smile wryly. "Then I guess its fate we were all drawn into the same place. I have been searching for answers, but I didn't expect to be lucky enough to find you." She said.

"Lorelei, Abby, is that you?" The voice of a man from the upstairs called. To their right was the source, traveling with a cane down the thin staircase was a human man. He looked related to Abby, as they shared the same skin tone and facial features. Cyrus soon took note of his cloudy whitish eyes, which left only a dim outline of his once green irises. The blind man reached the bottom of the stairs, seeming to sense the tension.

"I'm sorry Ben," Lorelei said. "Abby is with me, she followed me when I went out." She growled, the little girl shrinking.

"Abby," The man named Ben sighed in a disappointed tone. "Are you both ok?" He asked, his annoyance turning to concern.

"Yes, thanks to these men I met in the woods," She explained. Ben raised his head after learning there were others in the house. Cyrus saw the faded scars surrounding his eyes. His thoughts turned to Florica's uncle Camlo and his auto mail leg. Retired military, dusty metals of valor. He figured it had something to do with the Ishvalan war.

"Thank you." Ben said.

Trovius shook his hand when Ben reached out in their direction. "Trovius. The least I could do for a fellow alchemist." He introduced.

"They also know about me." Lorelei explained. "The other two are Homunculi as well."

Ben's mouth hung agape, his face turning to her voice. "The two from your vision?" He asked with excitement.

"That's why I wanted to help!" Abby began to protest.

"Bed!" Ben and Lorelei ordered at the same time. The child rushed up the stairs with her head down.

Cyrus wasted no time questioning the statement. "Did your vision have a girl in it?"

"In a doorway of light." Lorelei confirmed.

Cyrus smiled. He had found his last sibling.

"Let's sit." Ben offered. Lorelei sat next to him on the love seat next to the military uniform. Trovius and Cyrus were across from them at the other long couch the coffee table between them. Bounty remained leaning against the wall, studying the silver pocket watch. "Can I get anyone anything? How about you Trovius? We humans are needier then this group."

"Water would be much appreciated." Trovius said sheepishly.

Lorelei leaned back in her seat. "I'm amazed I found you. I woke up almost two years ago outside this town with no memory other than the one with the girl and you two in shadow. Ben's daughter found me in a transmutation circle, and he was able to identify what I was. I was lucky it was him…who knows what would have happened if active military found me first."

"Very lucky." Trovius added.

"My story is almost identical." Cyrus added, motioning to Trovius. "Trovius and a group of Gypsies found me. Do you still have the Transmutation circle you were found in? Trovius thinks he can find our creator if he has all three."

Lorelei's eyes widened. "A-are you serious?"

Trovius blushed a bit, accepting the water glass from Ben who looked just as amazed. "Not me alone. My mentor Roger, ex-military as well, is very knowledgeable on the topic. But yes. With all three of your arrays we can trace the location of where you were sent from."

Lorelei jumped up from her seat. "I have the paper here somewhere. Let me get it." She said, rushing from the room.

"I'm afraid I won't be much help in finding it." Ben snickered. He waved a hand in front of his face and shrugged.

"If I may…" Trovius began. "Was it the war?"

"Yes sir. I was a State Alchemist on the front lines though I wasn't there for long. Two weeks into the campaign a makeshift bomb went off three feet from me. I'm only alive today because I transmuted a wall to shield me and my unit. Though shrapnel still snuck through the top before the wall was complete. Since then I have been submitting research papers to supplement the military pension.

I thought the excitement was behind me after I retired, but then I met Lorelei. She's a spitfire. My wife had left me and the girls, and then Abby stumbled across Lorelei in the woods. I was amazed. I never thought someone could create a being like her."

Bounty snickered. "Would you say she is taken then?"

Cyrus glared at Bounty, shaking his head in disgust.

Ben blushed. "I guess you could say that. We have been close, though I don't want to get in her way. She is driven to find answers. Though the girls love her. She's stronger then I am most days."

"Damnit!" Lorelei cursed from down the hall.

"She may need help." Ben said.

Cyrus didn't have to be told twice. He let himself into the quiet house. He grimaced as he heard Bounty followed behind. "A match made in heaven eh? You find any lucky humans to glob onto?"

"Shut up please." Cyrus growled.

Lorelei was in a small study, her back to the two. She sifted through papers on the desk, pushing a painting easel out of the way to reach the bookshelf. Cyrus stopped in the threshold to scan the room. Portraits of different sizes littered the room. Every ounce of available wall space had hanging canvases. Canvases also leaned against the crown molding along the floor.

He recognized some. The light door with the Cretan girl's silhouette in the middle. The glow of a white stone.

Black eyes glaring through a barrage of fire.

Cyrus' back hit the door frame in his attempt to back away. He bumped into Bounty, who yelped in surprise. He fell against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Forcing his breath to calm he waited for the vision of the tunnels the pass.

"You recognize that military man?" Lorelei's voice pulled him out of the flash back. Cyrus opened his eyes to see she was kneeling down in front of him, her eyes curious. Bounty was behind them both, desperately confused. "The man in the painting, with the fire." She clarified.

Cyrus managed a nod. "How do you know him?"

Lorelei's lips pursed. "Because I used to see him all the time in nightmares." She held out her hand to help him up. With a trembling hand Cyrus accepted the help. "I take it you have too?"

"He would haunt me…still does. I can't stand fire because of him. It was the second thing I remembered after the vision of our mother. That military man…he hunted me down and killed me with fire."

"He must have been real then…" Lorelei muttered. "He killed me too, in a vast white room. He burned me until I died. Aside from that I have very few memories of my life before this one."

Normally Cyrus would have been consumed with embarrassment to expose his fear. But Lorelei had the same memory. She died by the same man's fire. Her eyes weren't judgmental they were sympathetic. Someone else understood.

"What about you Bounty?" Lorelei asked.

Cyrus grimaced. The last thing he wanted was Bounty pushing into his and Lorelei's moment. Though it did make sense. If he and Lorelei had died by the same man then Bounty may have as well.

"Um, no, can't say any of that sounds familiar." Bounty said with a shrug. "I have other memories, though nothing like that. I was being dragged down…someone grabbed me to stop me from falling. That's about it."

Lorelei went back into the room, flipping the military man's picture to face the wall. "It helps to see him. I like to think I can bring out more memories with painting." She said, getting back to her searching. Cyrus went to help, shaking off the shadow of the vision from his mind and sorting through papers. Many belonged to Ben, having military insignias or important looking fonts.

"Here." Cyrus said, seeing the elaborate circle peeking out from a stack. Lorelei gave a nod of confirmation as he dislodged it. The circle was like Cyrus', though with one or two distinct differences. 'We have all the pieces.' Cyrus thought. His smile was victories.

Lorelei handed the paper to Trovius in the living room. He pulled out a paper to copy it. "May I take this to my mentor Roger?"

"Yes, whatever you have to do." Lorelei said. After a moment's hesitation she added, "But no one else. People from Creta have come looking for me, and I don't want all this endangering my family."

"Of course." Trovius promised, locking the copied array in his briefcase.

"Ben," Lorelei said, sitting down next to him. "Cyrus remembers the man with the fire as well. He must have been involved before I was reborn."

Cyrus chimed in. "Our creator's people were attacked by another tribe, helped by the Amestrian military. The black eyed soldier must have been among them." He said, his tone confident.

Ben's face soured at the news. "I was afraid of that…the country I love. We sure have made a negative mark on this world."

"We can set it right." Trovius said. "We can find your creator's tribe and put this mystery to rest!"

Cyrus' mind was swimming with excitement. It was the closest to his mother they had ever been.

Trovius and Ben had talked until they both passed out on their respective couch. Bounty went to stand out on the porch and smoke for a few hours with his thoughts. Cyrus found Lorelei at the bedside of Abby and another younger girl. They were both sleeping, Lorelei tucking them both in.

"I don't think I could leave." Lorelei admitted to Cyrus in a whisper. "I have made a life here. But I need to put this mystery behind me."

Cyrus understood her dilemma. His thoughts returned to Florica and Boamos. He couldn't give this life up to return to Creta for good. Their mother had to understand that.

"I was hoping to convince our creator to come live here. It would be safer." Cyrus said.

Lorelei nodded. "I will be right there with you brother. And if that Fire man is there we can kill him together."

Cyrus smiled. "It's a promise."

He found himself writing to his mother again. It joined the journal of letters with no address to send to. Now he intended to hand them to her in person. This note was different though, as it was beaming with hope.

'I found them mother, I found my other two siblings. We have assembled all three of our circles and soon we will be able to find you next.'


	21. Chapter 21

"You should see my sister!" Cyrus said to the semi-conscious Boamos.

They had reconvened with the gypsies on their way to a rebuilt eastern town. Boamos was using all his strength to hold onto the reigns of the wagon.

"Eh?" Boamos managed to moan.

"Her hands are like blades. Her attacks are way faster than Bounty can activate his shield!" Cyrus continued, unhindered by his less then interested audience.

The wagon started to lurch left. Cyrus slapped Boamos awake.

"There yet?" Boamos said with a start.

"No." Florica told him again. She was running next to the wagon. Cyrus gave her a hand up. "Go to sleep Boamos." Florica told him. She pushed him out of the way so she could steer.

Cyrus' stomach jumped when she settled against his shoulder. "So, blades for fingers?" she asked.

"Y-yeah. Lorelei is amazing. I'm glad one of my siblings isn't a complete idiot."

"When will you all be going to Creta?" Florica asked. Her tone was less than enthusiastic.

"As soon as Roger and Trovius can decipher our three birth Arrays." He said.

Cyrus glanced down, twisting Lorelei's phone number in his fingers. Her voice was still in his head. "When we are ready to find our mother, call me. Or, if you ever want to talk. It can be isolating, so many loved ones around us but no one who knows what it's like to be different under the surface."

He tucked the number into his pocket next to the picture of his mother.

"I want to go to Creta too." Florica announced.

Cyrus looked at her, seeing the confident smile on her face. "No. Way to dangerous." Cyrus said.

Florica gave him across look. "So two old men and Bounty, someone you hate, can come go but not me?"

"You're not an alchemist." He pointed out.

"I can shoot! And I'm not incapable of learning alchemy." She said. Florica turned to Shelta's wagon, where Trovius was nose deep in his research. "Trovius, teach me Alchemy!"

Trovius was drowning in his research. He had a multitude of equations and symbols balanced on his lap. It was all to try and decipher the newest array from Lorelei. He glanced over a book, his eyebrow raised. "Um…I-ok? I'll see when I can fit that in…"

Cyrus shook his head. "No you're not getting it. If your there I would have to protect you."

Florica started to laugh. "As if! I only want to go so I can protect you."

"I'm not human." He reminded her.

"Still have to have my maybe boyfriend's back." She said with a wink.

Cyrus made a sound between a laugh and a gasp. "Your-what?"

"Oh what? We going to ignore this unspoken thing between us?"

Cyrus tried to respond, but couldn't get a sound past his throat.

Florica shrugged. "Fine. If there is nothing between us then say so, and I'll stay behind."

He wasn't sure why he couldn't summon a response. He remained silent, fighting the heat from his cheeks. "We did kiss." She pointed out.

"I remember." Cyrus muttered.

"I guess I'm going then." She said a twinge of victory in her tone.

When he spotted the desert village on the horizon he changed the topic. "What town is this again?" Cyrus asked. He knew, but he was desperate to deflect.

Florica indulged him and responded. "It's a new Ishvalan town. The military had been helping to rebuild. And wow, it's a lot bigger then the last time we were here."

"Worrying indeed." Trovius said from Shelta's wagon. "And why must this military infested town be our next destination?"

Cyrus saw his question directed at Shelta. She had little patience for the reoccurring question and neurotic behavior. She brushed the papers away from her side before answering him. "Because work will be plentiful here. We are still recovering from the fire, and Ishvalan settlements are safe and welcoming."

"And military infested." Trovius sighed.

"Cyrus dear." Shelta called from across the trail. "Could you refrain from randomly shapeshifting in front of a squadron of soldiers? So we can set Trovius' mind at ease?"

"I'll try and fight the urge." Cyrus said. He flashed a smile at Trovius, who only shook his head.

The wagons parked much closer to the town then normal. The buildings matched the desert terrain. Colorful banners adorned the walls in the square. Sounds of construction were encompassing. Cyrus noted the collection of military trucks along the outskirts of the village.

The military men paid little attention to the unpacking gypsies. They were busy commanding groups of Amesterians and tan skinned Ishvalans between work sights.

Cyrus saw Trovius shoving his research into the wagon and out of sight. For once he didn't share Trovius' paranoia. The military didn't seem to be much of a threat in this setting.

Children played in-between stacks of lumber. Street music played in the square, filling the air with the sweetness of string instruments.

"I've been here before." Cyrus muttered.

Florica jumped onto his back, distracting from the thought. "Come on! Let's drag Boamos out of the wagon and look around!"

It took a full container of water poured on Boamos to rouse him. "We're here cousin dear." Florica told him while Cyrus poked at his wet hair.

Boamos blinked, his dark complexion tinged pale. He lurched over the wagon and threw up. Both Florica and Cyrus rolled their eyes. "I'll clean him up." Florica offered with a sigh.

"I'll scout ahead." Cyrus said, waving over his shoulder. "Feel free to join me when Boamos gets his life together."

Florica called after him. "Then I guess this is goodbye then!"

Cyrus snickered, throwing the crappy violin case over his shoulder. He overheard Trovius still begging Shelta to leave their new settlement. Deciding to stay far away from that drama Cyrus headed into town.

He wandered the stone streets, familiarity clawing at his mind. Cyrus was positive he had been in the town or at least one very similar. He was waiting for something to trigger a memory, so he could have some sort of clue.

His creator was from Creta…so why would he recall Ishval?"

"His shoulder leached forward. Someone shoved him, trying to turn him around. Cyrus stumbled; spinning around to glare at his would be attacker. "The hell's your problem?" he hissed. He expected Boamos, angry for the water incident. Cyrus wasn't above punching the drunk in the face.

He was rendered speechless as he was met with angry red eyes, accentuated by a large X shaped scar.

The man was massive, plain colored robes hung from large muscles. Both of his arms were decorated with black, elaborate alchemic tattoos. His hands balled into fists. "How and why are you here?" The Ishvalan man demanded. Hostility dripped from every pore. His white eyebrows were locked downward, bulging his facial scar.

Cyrus contemplated the two-part question. His head started to hurt out of nowhere. A memory was picking at the back of his mind. It distracted from the inevitable fight that was coming.

Voices. It was his own. And it was Lorelei.

 _"About this man with the scar…I Don't know who he is or where he's from but we can't allow him to interfere with our plan."_

 _"All right…we're pretty much finished with Leor, so I guess we'll go take a look."_

 _"This State Alchemist killer of ours…what was his name again?"_

"There you are Cyrus!" Florica said. She skipped out of a side street, Boamos lagging behind.

The memory shattered. The scar faced man looked to the new comers and Cyrus gasped when his focus was on Florica. She stopped short, the tension in the air obvious. Cyrus stepped in front of Florica, shielding her from the man's glare.

The man's stair softened so his eyebrow could arch. Cyrus' action of protecting Florica seemed to confuse him.

Boamos stood next to Cyrus, his arms crossing. "We goin' to have a problem buddy?" He challenged.

The man considered them, his gaze always returning to Cyrus. His silence was a cover, Cyrus seeing the gears turning in his mind. His offensive stance relaxed. "I thought you were someone else." He offered coldly. He turned from the group without another word and stalked away.

"What was that about?" Florica asked. She and Boamos looked to Cyrus for an answer.

Cyrus watched the man's back as she vanished into the crowd. "I don't know." He admitted. "Let's just get back to camp."

* * *

Cyrus convinced himself he could have taken the scar faced man despite his hasty retreat. After the event that morning the three stayed close to camp. Though that hardly mattered, as they were practically parked in the town square.

Florica danced to Boamos and Cyrus' violins, attracting quite the paying crowd. Despite the coins piling in Boamos' open violin case Cyrus' frowned was prominent. Even hours after the encounter with the scar faced man his mind was still racing. 'He recognized me.' Cyrus thought. His eyes scanned over the sheet music, trying to keep up and think at the same time. 'Why would an Ishvalan know me? I'm Cretan right?'

"Heads up." Boamos whispered.

Cyrus snapped back to reality, a chill cascading down his spine. "How long has he been there?" He asked the moment his eyes locked with the scar faced man in the crowd. He wasn't clapping along with the music like his red eyed people around him. His gaze was locked onto Cyrus.

"Just noticed. Recall I'm drunk as hell." Boamos said.

"He's tailing me." Cyrus said. He narrowed his eyes at the stalker. The man mirrored his expression before backing out of sight.

"If he comes into camp we'll double team him." Boamos promised.

It was a better plan then any, but as night fell Cyrus was anxious. He scanned the few stragglers still on the streets from the roof of Shelta's wagon.

Florica jumped up to join him. "He may think you are someone else. Someone owes him money or something." She offered.

He reciprocated with an irritated look. "How many people do you know that look like me?" he asked, grabbing at a long blackish green strand of his hair.

"True…whatever the guy's problem is you should avoid him. He looks like trouble. If you get into a fight with so many military men around it will give Trovius a heart attack." She snickered.

Cyrus smiled, knowing she was right. His grin faded, and he glanced around the camp. A realization hit him. "Where is Trovius?" He asked.

"Florica pursed her lips. "I actually haven't seen him all day." The two glanced at each other. Florica called down to Shelta, who was folding the last bit of laundry. "Aunt Shelta? Where is Dr. Trovius?"

Shelta gave them a puzzled look. "The last I saw of him was this morning when he went looking for you Cyrus. When you first left to explore town, didn't you speak with him?"

"No." Cyrus said. He jumped down from the cart, panic starting to well in his mind. Trovius vanishing right around the time that man was stalking after him.

"Wait, I'll wake up Boamos." Florica said.

"No, he'll slow me down. Wait here incase Trovius comes back." Cyrus said. Before she could protest he raced off into town.

Heat still radiated from the stone streets, but the night air was crisp. Muffled laughter could be heard from behind glowing windows. The smell of spicy food wafted on the desert wind from every chimney. Aside from Cyrus the streets were empty.

The small renovated library was closed. It was one of the few places Cyrus knew he would find Trovius. He looked down every alley. He peeked around every street corner. Worry clawed at his chest, his mind racing.

The footfall behind him caught his ear. Cyrus spun around, somehow knowing who he would find. And it wasn't Trovius.

The scar faced man stood half in the streetlamp light, eyeing Cyrus. The two sized each other up, silence exchanged mutually.

The man put his hands in his pockets and walked away.

"Wait!" Cyrus demanded. He crossed the road after him. He was ignored, the man picking up his pace. "Now you're running? Stop!" Cyrus hissed before breaking into a run.

The man ran as well, racing down the dark streets. He wasn't scared, but he was not interested in talking.

"Stop Damnit! You know me don't you?" Cyrus yelled.

The man turned a corner. Cyrus knew from his search for Trovius it was a dead end alley. 'I have him!" he thought. The man was cornered, his back to Cyrus. His focused was on the wall in his way. "Who the hell are you?" Cyrus demanded. He stopped a few yards away, blocking the only way out.

Without turning, the man huffed a response. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"So you do know me." Cyrus said, gnashing his teeth. "I recognize you, but I don't know from where. Tell me who you are and how you know me!"

The man glanced over his shoulder. "If you don't recall who I am, then that's how it will stay. That's my final word. If you seek me out again, I will kill you." He pressed his right hand against the wall. Alchemic light filled the alley. Cyrus shielded his eyes, a part of the wall crumbling into dust. A man sized hole opened. The scar faced man stepped into his entryway, not giving Cyrus another glance.

Cyrus rushed after him. He skid to a stop when alchemy mended the hole, cutting them off. He slammed his fists into the stone. The silence that followed was deafening. "So damn close." He sighed, shoving off from the wall.

Despite the threat Cyrus intended to find the man again. If he only had more memories, he wouldn't have to go into Creta completely blind. This man had some of his missing memories.

He trudged back through the streets, searching for both the man and Trovius. He had searched most of the town, not finding either of them. Though, at the end of the market on the steps of the dimly lit military office was a silhouette in a phone booth. It was Trovius. He was balancing an armful of paperwork in his arms and the phone's receiver between his shoulder and ear.

Cyrus was pissed, and didn't care about interrupting his phone call, probably with Roger. He opened the glass booth doors. "There you are Trovius." Cyrus grumbled. He was taken aback when Trovius jumped a foot in the air. His paper work scattered and the receiver banged against the wall of the booth.

Cyrus looked at the man's startled face. Trovius was jumpy, but not to this degree. Something was wrong.

"You…Cyrus! My dear boy. How the time does fly! Have you come out to find me?" Roger's voice was still talking, and Trovius scrambled to grab the receiver before Cyrus did. "I'll call you back in the morning Roger." He said, hanging up the phone in a flash.

"Um…are you ok?" Cyrus asked, going to pick up the papers. Trovius waved him off from the task, scooping them into a messy pile.

"Never better!" he said with a plaster smile. He shoved the papers into his bag and out of sight. "Just carrying on with our research …Creta! Of course. We are getting close. How are you feeling by the way Cyrus?"

Cyrus was sure his perplexed face gave him away. "Um…confused." He admitted.

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix I'm sure! Let's return to camp…good lord it has gotten dark fast." Trovius said, draping an arm around Cyrus' shoulder.

"It's been dark for like three hours." Cyrus pointed out. Trovius gave a nervous chuckle. He prattled on about topics like the heat or the new constructed buildings. Trovius had always been a terrible liar, but for once Cyrus didn't push him. Trovius was truly shaken.

* * *

When the alchemist finally passed out Cyrus was quick to share Trovius' strange behavior with Boamos and Florica. Boamos was the first to give his opinion. "He could finally be going senile." He offered.

"Or," Cyrus began, chewing on his thumbnail. "He's found out something that he thinks will upset me… what if it's about my mother?"

"He would tell you that Cyrus." Florica said.

Cyrus yawned, trusting she was right. He and Trovius were beyond petty secrets. It was most likely something stupid Roger would sort out. "I'll have to start snooping through his stuff again." He said. That or tail him to the phone booth as some inconspicuous animal. It wouldn't be the first time. Trovius never did notice the mud colored cat with purple eyes that would follow him and Roger when they were keeping secrets.

Boamos cursed, fiddling with the bow of his crimson violin. "Still not right…" he said, tightening the bow again. He claimed it hadn't been sounding right for the past few days. Cyrus had noticed too, though didn't say anything.

"The violin is fine cousin; you have been drinking too much." Florica said. Boamos glared at her past his flask before taking another sip.

Cyrus ignored them, finding more to complain about. "That scar faced idiot slipped away from me. He knew who I was, then had the audacity to threaten me! I bet he's still watching me." He said. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder.

"And if we see him we'll kick his ass." Boamos said, brushing off his concern. "Stop worrying about everything, either way you'll get your memories back without that guy."

"Or, even more memories will come to you at our next stop." Florica said.

"Why's that?" Cyrus asked.

"We're headed to Central City. You're bound to recognize someone who will spark your memory." She said with a smile.

"That reminds me." Boamos said. He hoisted himself into a sitting position with a grunt. "I ordered something in that city. Don't let me forget to pick it up Cyrus. It's at a music store on the East side." He said.

"Because he will forget." Florica teased. She bounced to her feet, kissed Boamos on the head, and Cyrus on both cheeks. He tried not to blush as she wished them goodnight.

When she was inside her tent Boamos started to snicker. "You two are the epitome of awkward teen lovers."

Cyrus threw a spoon at him. "Who knows how old I actually am, so keep that in mind."

"Alright, I'm just saying it's cute."

"Cyrus crossed his arms. "Is it noticeable, how I feel about her?" he whispered.

"Um, you are trying to hide it?" Boamos laughed. He pulled out his violin to tune it again. "Don't worry. Florica likes you to. Whenever you leave she can't shut up about you."

Cyrus had to clench his teeth to prevent himself from smiling like an idiot.

Boamos played a fast melody, messing up the second line and cursing in frustration. "This can't be me…I haven't made a mistake since I was sixteen." He growled.

"Let me see." Cyrus offered. Boamos handed him the crimson violin, and Cyrus turned it in his hands. Testing it's strings, the instrument sounded fine, as it always did.

"You have always like that violin haven't you?" Boamos guessed.

Cyrus glanced up from the beautiful violin. "I guess I'm an open book, hu?" He grumbled.

Boamos shrugged, leaning back to lie on the ground. "You should have said something. If you wanted it that badly you can have it."

Cyrus did a double take between the violin and Boamos. "Really?"

"Sure. You can have whatever you want of mine. No one else wants it. Plus, if you go back to Creta, you can have something to remember your favorite drunk by."

Cyrus had long since tuned him out. He ran the bow along the humming strings of his new violin. "Thank you." he said.

"Don't mention it. Now you have no excuse not to get better than me."

"Oh, you can count on it." Cyrus promised, never looking away from the instrument.

"Grab me my bottle, won't cha Cyrus? I feel too crappy to get up and get it." Boamos said.

Cyrus snickered, standing up to get it. "So you'll drink off whatever ails ya?" he asked. He handed the alcohol to Boamos on the ground.

"That's exactly what I plan on doing. In the morning kick me awake so we can hunt down and beat up your scar faced stalker together." Boamos said.

"I'll hold you to that." Cyrus laughed. Boamos started snoring almost as soon as they stopped talking. Cyrus admired the crimson violin for a bit longer before locking it back in its case.

With a deep sigh he laid down on the ground, his hands cradling his head. The stairs were crystal clear out in the desert. Cyrus watched them make their slow dance across the sky. He gave the town an occasional glance, wondering if the man would drop in on him if he fell asleep.

'Let him come.' Cyrus thought with a confident smirk. 'Then he'll have the whole camp to deal with.' It was an amusing thought.

"Everything is coming together." He muttered. He had found his siblings. Roger and Trovius would find his mother any day, and he hadn't dreamt of the black eyed man and his fire in months. Most of all, he finally had the crimson violin. Cyrus allowed his eyes to close, his mind peaceful for the first time in a while.

* * *

He woke to the sun warming his face too early in the morning. That was the problem with falling asleep outside. Cyrus yawned dramatically, smiling as his eyes rested on the violin case.

Few were awake in camp or town, so Cyrus assumed it was before six.

"Rise and shine drunk. It's time to start looking for the guy." Cyrus said. Not surprisingly Boamos didn't stir. Cyrus threw a spare shoe at him. "Get up! We need to get moving before the scar faced guy decides to skip town. Also, don't bring your gun, I want to kick his ass the old fashioned way." He added, stretching his arms over his head.

He glanced at Boamos still on the ground. He was peaceful, not shaken by his normal snoring. Cyrus walked over to give his shoulder a rough shake. His irritation turned to confusion. Boamos was stiff.

Cyrus focused on his pale face, kneeling next to him. "Boamos?"

Nothing.

Possessed by a strange thought, he leaned his ear against the man's chest. Boamos' lungs were still, his heart silent as a stone.


	22. Chapter 22

Hi all! I am feeling ambitious and am going to start to try and publish every Sunday of the week! We will see how long I can keep this up. With that said, please enjoy this depressing chapter!

* * *

"Boamos!" Cyrus screamed. He grabbed Boamos by the collar and shook him harder than he should shake a human. "Wake up! Damnit you old drunk wake up! Trovius help!"

Trovius stumbled out of his tent, still in his sleep clothes. "What the devil is the matter?" He gasped as he rushed over.

"Boamos isn't breathing! Do something!" Cyrus yelled with his hands still clamped onto Boamos' shirt.

Trovius got to work right away, switching into doctor mode. He knelt down and touched his fingers to Boamos' neck. Cyrus focused on Trovius' face. His expression was grim. "Back up my dear boy." Trovius ordered. Someone was tugging at Cyrus' coat, but he shoved them away.

"You're in his way Cyrus." Shelta told him. He turned to see it was her pulling at him.

Many others, Florica included, emerged from their tents from the commotion. "What's wrong?" Florica asked. Her uncle Camlo held her back from rushing over.

Cyrus allowed Shelta to pull him away. She hugged his shoulders and kissed his hair, her arms shaking. Cyrus didn't notice, all his focus on Trovius trying to resuscitate Boamos. Trovius breathed air into his mouth and pumped his still heart.

Florica was weeping somewhere behind Cyrus, his mind going numb. Trovius stopped his attempts but Boamos didn't stir.

"What's wrong?" Cyrus demanded.

Shelta hugged Cyrus tighter. "Is he dead, Trovius?" she asked, her voice drenched in sorrow.

Trovius cleared his throat. "I'm afraid so."

"Then bring him back!" Cyrus exploded. "Use alchemy! Your Philosopher's Stones, do something!" he hissed, not knowing why Trovius was standing there doing nothing.

"I'm sorry Cyrus." Trovius said with a shake of his head. "Alchemy won't save him. And even if I knew how, the Stones I have aren't powerful enough-"

"Then use my Stone! Use up all the power it has! Make him into a Homunculus! Something!"

"Cyrus!" Shelta said. He turned, seeing the tears welling in her emerald eyes. "He's gone."

Cyrus shook her off of him, shaking his head viciously.

Florica was screaming. Camlo held her up so she wouldn't collapse into the sand.

Trovius was talking to him, but Cyrus only heard the ringing in his ears. His gaze was fixed on Boamos, the wine bottle in his hand. The drink that killed him. The drink Cyrus delivered to Boamos.

He turned on his heels and fled. Cyrus left the camp and town behind, fleeing into the desert. The sun scorched sand bit his bare feet. The air was thin. Cyrus ignored it all.

The shade of a rock formation beckoned him. Cyrus remained out of sight of the sun, his back pressed to a bolder.

"Why did you fall asleep?" he asked himself. He didn't need to sleep that night. If he had stayed awake he may have noticed something was wrong with Boamos. There had been something wrong for a while. 'I was too self-absorbed with my own stupid drama I didn't see what was happening to my own best friend.' He thought, his chest tightening. Boamos throwing up every time he drank. The glassy gaze in his eyes. His slow loss of his finger strength while he played the violin.

"Instead of drooling over the damn instrument why didn't I do something!" He yelled, hating himself. He stood and shoved the bolder into the rock wall. It cracked on impact. He continued to wail on the bolder until he reduced it to pebbles.

Cyrus slid to his knees, his arms wrapping around his shoulders. Cyrus screamed until his throat was raw. "Damnit! Damnit…" He closed his eyes, cocooning himself into his own mind.

'Trovius should have done something.' He thought. Shutters rocked his body to its core. 'Why couldn't he have used my Stone? It's almost endless energy, isn't it?'

"Bring him back." Cyrus argued.

 _"Your Stone's power won't run out for thousands of years!"_ Trovius had told him so long ago.

"Then why couldn't it have saved Boamos?" He asked the Trovius of the past. There was no reply, only the overwhelming emptiness in his mind. In this void, as single thought overcame him.

'Everyone will die but me.'

Cyrus' eye's opened. His hands shook. His Stone would pull him along the eons, leaving his family behind. The weight of this truth was suffocating. He gasped, grasping his chest when his inside's constricted.

Roger and Shelta would be the first ones to die from old age. Trovius, his neurotic but endearing father figure would be close behind.

Then Florica…

They would all die, and he would still have forever to go. Alone.

Cyrus gagged. His nails dug into his shoulders. Red light sparked to repair his skin when he drew blood. This only reminded him of his immortal situation.

He screamed, the hot desert air evaporating his tears.

He didn't want to go back to camp. He didn't want to see Boamos' body laying stiff on the ground. He felt like a coward, running away from his best friend. Cyrus still had Florica's wails echoing around his brain. He left her too.

Cyrus resigned himself to escape from reality. He closed his eyes, seeing Florica's tear stained face behind his eyelids. He realized how dangerous his feelings for her were. Boamos' death was eating at him from the inside out. Florica was human like her cousin, and would leave him someday too.

One day, prepared or not, he would have to say goodbye to them all.

* * *

 _"Goodbye…Edward…Elric."_

* * *

Cyrus startled awake. The sky was losing its light. Before the vision Cyrus recalled passing out under the desert rocks. He sat with his limbs feeling like they had solidified. His stomach still felt sick, and he almost expected more tears. None came.

With slow mechanical movements Cyrus stood. His brain was numb, and he couldn't contemplate his single sentence vision. All he knew was he knew the famous Fullmetal Alchemist. And it was not just from their single letter exchange.

He was hurting for others to be around him. He finally convinced himself to return to camp. He couldn't emote like he did before he ran from camp. The last thing he wanted was to make Florica cry.

The Ishvalan town was in sight. Cyrus' fists tightened when he saw the camp. Despite it only being early twilight it was quiet. Then alchemic light reflected off the tent walls. A naiver part of Cyrus was hopeful. 'Did Trovius manage to bring Boamos back?' he thought, though assumed the light was going to be anything else besides that.

Cyrus went towards the light source. There was a new tent that he didn't recognize in the middle of camp. It had no canvass walls and only a black pointed roof. Approaching with caution, he saw Trovius under the black tent. There was a long plain wooden box in the center, surrounded by ice, flowers, and all Boamos' stuff. Trovius was transmuting the melted water back into ice, his lips pursed line-thin.

"Where is Boamos?" Cyrus asked, standing outside the tent. Trovius startled. He looked up from his work, and seemed to struggle, deciding on an expression. "Right here, my dear boy…" he answered, giving the wooden box a pat.

Cyrus stiffened, looking at the deceiving plain box, that he now knew was a coffin. "Why the ice?"

Trovius stammered, settling on his words with a nod. "It's…to preserve him. Shelta is sending out word to other family members, so that they can be here for him.

The Ishvalan's have been very generous, bringing water for me to transmute. They have even offered their temple for a service, but we declined. Gypsies have their own customs."

They stood in silence, Cyrus never glancing away from the coffin. The ice was melting fast in the desert air. Cyrus swallowed down the bile in his throat, as he wondered what damage the heat was doing to Boamos.

He studied Trovius, never noticing his age until now. Who would transmute ice for Trovius when he died?

Another thought occurred to Cyrus, and his stomach twisted. "What about Florica?"

"Off in town with Camlo and her mother. She couldn't stand to be in camp."

Cyrus wanted to find her. He wanted both of them to wander the town, like everything was normal. That of course, would be impossible now. Boamos was always trailing behind them.

Shelta arrived, pushing the tents hanging roof out of her way. "How are you, Cyrus?" she said. Her eyes were damaged by tears.

He didn't answer, instead zeroing in on the crimson violin case. "You're not going to sell his stuff, right?"

Trovius was hesitant answer the question. Cyrus focused on Shelta, knowing she was always blunt and to the point. "No, Cyrus. After all family has said their goodbyes. All Boamos' items will be burned with his body."

"What?" he demanded, the horror sinking into his brain.

Trovius intoned, with a gentle voice. "Now, Cyrus. He is gone. He can't feel pain anymore."

"You can't burn Boamos!" Cyrus exploded. He stood between them and the coffin, to protect Boamos.

"It's tradition." Shelta began.

"Well, your tradition sucks. You're not setting Boamos on fire!"

"If they don't, Boamos would suffer." Florica said. Cyrus turned to see her lingering in the entrance way. Her face was a mask of sorrow, but her voice was quiet and calm. All the fight left Cyrus when he saw her. "He needs to move on, and he can't if his body is still here. He will also want to stay with his things, if it's all still here."

Cyrus' throat tightened. He wondered if Boamos was still "there" like Florica said. She believed it with all her heart, otherwise she wouldn't be ok with burning Boamos.

'But his instruments…' he thought. The things Boamos loved. Cyrus head perked up. "Boamos gave me everything." He told Shelta. He grabbed the crimson violin case, and held it close.

The group was silent. "I'm not lying! Last night he said I could have everything of his."

"Boamos mentioned that to me once." Muttered Florica's Uncle Camlo. He had walked in to put a single gold coin on Boamos' coffin. He gave Cyrus' one of his awkward smiles and a shrug. Cyrus wasn't sure if that was true, or if the old man was lying for him. Either way, he was grateful.

"Alright." Shelta agreed. "Take what you want, but not too much, or else he will linger."

Cyrus nodded, grabbing both violins, the flute, and the sheet music. He made a pile in his own trunk, in Trovius' and Shelta's tent.

Digging through Boamos' stuff, he found all his old drawings, and kept them as well. He stumbled across Boamos' stash of liquor, under the floor boards of the old wagon. The sight of the alcohol made his face sour.

"Help me pour them out." Florica said. She leaned over the side of the wagon to grab the bottles. "He'll get frustrated that he can't drink them." She explained, before pouring the booze into the sand.

Without a word of protest, Cyrus assisted her.

Boamos didn't have much, but Shelta's words about causing Boamos to linger was making him feel guilty. What if burning everything set Boamos free? Cyrus felt stupid thinking something so outlandish.

Cyrus left Boamos' clothes, except for his black jacket. Chipped plates, old letters, and knick knacks, Cyrus had never seen, he left in the wagon to burn.

The next few days were agonizing. Strange people arrived to pile money on Boamos' coffin and cry. Cyrus made himself scarce, not in the mood to see anyone.

He tried to sleep once, and regretted it. The fire nightmares returned with a vengeance. Only this time, as he was running through the tunnels, he was screaming for Boamos. He would try to find him, before the black-eyed man did. He woke up screaming before he found Boamos.

Cyrus not sleeping assured the endless days would be even longer. He would sit with the crimson violin, in the wall-less tent at night, and play through Boamos' sheet music.

Shelta and many others were busy making food for the newcomers. Cyrus didn't eat, even when Trovius begged him to. It wasn't only because of the cooking fire that sent him fleeing from camp. He couldn't stand the idea of Boamos cooking in the flames.

There were only twelve hours left before the funeral, and Cyrus was a mess. 'How am I going to handle this?' He thought. 'Florica needs you.' He would repeat to himself.

What he didn't expect was Roger to arrive early that morning. The old Alchemist grunted as he got out of his car. "Good morning, son." He greeted Cyrus with his normal grin.

Trovius emerged from the tent, his face eager. Cyrus assumed Roger was coming. "Welcome, my old friend! How was your drive?"

"Not as long as it usually is." He said with a stretch.

"Why are you here?" Cyrus asked, cutting to the chase.

The two Alchemists gave each other a glance, before Roger smiled. "We thought you might want to take a break from the desert heat, and spend some time in the East City with me." He explained.

Cyrus knew what that meant at once. Trovius didn't think he could handle the funeral, so he called Roger to take him away. "I need to stay here." Cyrus protested.

Roger seemed worried. "You see, Cyrus. We are trying to avoid you having unnecessary stress."

"Why is that a concern?" Cyrus demanded.

Both men fell silent. Cyrus looked between them, suspiciously. He knew they had found something out pertaining to his memories, Creta, or both. At the moment, he didn't care about his memories, or Creta. "I'm staying. I can go with you after the funeral, but I have to be here."

Roger cleared his throat. "Very well…we'll be here for you, Cyrus."

Cyrus left to find Florica without another word.

"You don't have to stay." Florica insisted. They sat on the roof of Shelta's wagon, observing the wood pyre being constructed outside of camp. "You know Boamos' isn't the type to hold stuff against people."

Cyrus observed her face, pain stabbing at his stomach. "I know…" he sighed. Cyrus and Florica caught eyes, and then looked away. "But, I have to stay. I need to have 'my maybe' girlfriend's back." He added under his breath.

Florica snorted a laugh at the sound of her own words. "So, have we finally decided to talk about the unspoken thing between us?" she wondered.

It was the first smile he had seen out of her in days. Despite this, his stomach twisted with regret. "I shouldn't have said that…we shouldn't continue this."

"Oh hush." She blew him off.

"I'm immortal, Florica." He said sharply.

"We'll deal with that when it's an issue. Bring it up again when I start going gray." She said with a shrug.

Cyrus shook his head. Why wasn't she being serious?

Florica crossed her legs, and gazing at the sky. "Let's run away." She suggested.

"How would that help the 'me never dying' thing?"

"We'll run away from that, too." She said.

Cyrus gave her a puzzled glance. "You mean run away from reality?"

"Yep. How bout we go to Aerugo. It's not landlocked, like Amestris. I want to run away to the ocean."

"And if reality follows us?" He asked.

"We get on a boat and keep going."

Cyrus tried to see the place in the sky she was focused on. He couldn't help but smile at her absurd plan. "Deal."

Their moment of stolen happiness was cut short. Cyrus saw a group of men pulling Boamos' stuff in his wagon to the pyre.

Florica jumped down, the bells on her ankles jingling. "Before we start packing for our trip I'm going to say goodbye, before he leaves."

Cyrus' muscles were stiff, but he landed by her side. She slipped her hand into his, and they made their way to the black tent.

Shelta was leaning her head against Boamos' coffin. Her eyes were closed and she was chanting a prayer in Aerugonian. When Cyrus and Florica entered she kissed the coffin. "Donche' dear nephew." She stepped aside, giving Florica a grim smile. "He needs to go soon." She said.

"Ok." Florica breathed. She stood before the coffin, squeezing Cyrus' hand for dear life. Cyrus locked his jaw, not trusting himself to even breathe. Nothing about this felt right. Everything was wrong.

"Goodbye cousin." Florica whispered. She broke down before she got any further. She leaned into Cyrus. Fighting against his stone muscles he draped an arm around her shoulder. "My dance will never be the same without your violin. But…thank you. For teaching Cyrus how to play. He'll live up to-" She stopped again, taking a deep gasping breath through her sobs. "I love you. Donche' dear cousin."

Cyrus wanted to say something. Boamos couldn't hear him, but he realized none of this was for Boamos. The simple man had hated tradition. He never went to funerals. He 'didn't do sad' Boamos had told Cyrus once. All he wanted was his violin and his drink.

'Well, you drank yourself to death, so congrats, idiot.' He wanted to say out loud but couldn't. It's what he would have said to Boamos' face if he could. But Cyrus didn't trust his voice. He instead watched unmoving as a group of men hoisted the coffin onto their shoulders and carried Boamos away.

Smoke filled the air and Cyrus broke into a cold sweat. Torches blazed to life and passed around to those near the pyre. The wheels of the wagon were removed and the coffin placed on top. Cyrus' ears rang, but he remained locked to Florica.

A tap on his shoulder and Cyrus jumped. "It is not too late to back out son." Roger reminded him. Cyrus shook his head, turning back as the pyre was lit under the wagon. Countless journeys he and Boamos had taken on that rickety old wagon. It was consumed in smoke, the fire spreading like cancer through the wooden planks. Boamos' tent he never felt like pitching burst into flames.

Cyrus focused on the coffin, which caught on fire last. The kindling stuffed around the coffin assured everything would burn until everything was ash.

People wept around him, Florica shaking in his arms. His mind was spinning. Smoke permeating his nostrils. The charcoal stench became laced with singed hair.

* * *

 _"Now burn in hell!"_

The tunnels were around him, the Black-eyed man lurking nearby.

* * *

A firm hand came to rest on Cyrus' shoulder. Through the vision he saw Trovius, his face calm and sympathetic. Shelta's thin and wrinkled arms wrapped around him in an embrace, like he was still doing for Florica.

The black-eyed man faded from his mind even as the fire danced high into the sky. His family's presence shielded him from the vision. He was free from its control over him. A sob wracked Cyrus' body. He held Florica tight. Despite the pain he cried, feeling free. Free from the man and his fire, and the chains he placed on his own mind.

His family was there to protect him so Cyrus could focus on his best friend's departure. Together they watched Boamos' ashes carried off on the wind.


	23. Chapter 23

Not bad...only a few days late. Better then two months. I just wanted to say, to all those reading, thanks so much for your comments and support of this story. This community means a lot to me. I shall have the next chapter out next week, so please enjoy.

* * *

"Hello?" Lorelei's voice came through the phone mounted on Roger's kitchen wall.

Cyrus was sitting on the kitchen counter with the phone pressed to his ear. "Hey Lorelei, it's me."

He had waited almost three weeks after he went to stay with Roger before picking up the phone. He intended to call the post office in Ishval, so they could send for Florica and she could call him back.

But after Boamos' death began to settle in his mind, something was eating away at him. "I need to ask you something…It's not about Creta either." Cyrus explained, his tone grim.

"Of course." She responded.

"Does the phrase, 'The Promised day' mean anything to you?"

The phone was silent for a moment. Cyrus was desperate to know what his sister was thinking. "Have you heard that in a vision too?" she whispered.

Cyrus placed his head back against the wall with a sigh. He wasn't the only one. "Yeah, and it has been haunting me more and more. I hear it from an old man in shadow. He's in this dark room full of gears and wires. He wasn't Cretan, but this memory is important, more important than all the others…but I don't think it's good."

"I've seen the exact same thing." Lorelei said, her voice wavering. "I don't want to admit it out loud, but there is something major we are missing. I don't know if we will find answers in Creta. We're in Amestris for a reason."

"I met someone in Ishval, a man who recognized me." Cyrus said, his mind going back to the same week Boamos died, and his heart twisted. Buried under the grief was the scar faced man. "He was adamant I not remember who he was, or how we knew each other, otherwise he would kill me. At first I scoffed at the idea, but now I'm wondering why the hell he would go to such lengths for me not to remember. The man who killed us both by fire, what was he driven by? Why kill us?"

"I still need to know, no matter how bad. If there is something nefarious lurking in my, our past, it's better to know and be ready for it." She said.

Cyrus cracked a smile. "Agreed. I've got your back in this if you have mine." He promised.

"Have you asked Bounty about this vision?" she asked.

"Ha! Hell no. Memories or not I'm not talking to him." Cyrus said with a snort.

"You know you both act like my two kids when they fight." She informed him.

"He brings it out in me." Cyrus said in his own defense, and then changed the topic before she could try and bring up Bounty again. "Roger and Trovius have almost broken the codes around our arrays. Tomorrow I'm going back to camp at Central City where there may be more answers."

"I can leave in a few weeks and meet you. From there we can start planning for our trip to Creta, if that's where this mystery leads us." She promised.

"It's a deal." Cyrus said. With a drawn out goodbye he hung up the phone. He sat in the silence of the kitchen, feeling a weight off his chest.

Cyrus jumped off the counter and went in search of Roger. The house was enormous, and among the grandest things Cyrus had ever seen. He now understood why Boamos would mock the man for living so well off the militaries money. Saying he was rich was an understatement.

Cyrus cringed. The memory of the cynical Boamos depressing him. It made him regret leaving camp for three weeks after the funeral. Still, he knew it was the right decision. He was a mess, and couldn't face his family in such a state.

Walking down the hall to the newly furnished living room he opened the metal door leading to Roger's lab. Electric lights lined the staircase leading down into the spacious two roomed basement. Two doors greeted him at the bottom. The one on the left was Roger's library and study, which mine as well have been a library. The right door led to the lab. Cyrus opened the right door.

The room was not the sterile white Cyrus thought of when he envisioned the word 'lab'. It was painted beige with carved trim around the floor and ceiling. Framed degrees, military honors, a giant map of Amestris, and alchemic formulas decorated the walls. It was all very different then Trovius' thrown together clinic in a tent.

Roger was at his desk like normal. Cyrus and his sibling's arrays laid out on the surface of the desk. Perched on a small stand was one of Roger's bird-like Chimera. It was the strange amalgamation affectionately dubbed Jabby. The Chimera was busy nibbling on a cracker with its feathered primate fingers.

Roger glanced up when Cyrus closed the metal door behind him. "Did you get ahold of your sister?" he asked.

Cyrus nodded. He made his way to the far wall where Roger's assortment of caged chimeras lived. Without asking, Cyrus unlatched the smaller cage of the little fox and squirrel mix.

The small cat sized chimera named Little Jackie scampered up Cyrus' arm and came to rest on his shoulder. He rather liked Roger's alchemic creations. In a strange way he felt a kinship to them. Normal animals were frightened of Cyrus. Chimeras were alchemic freaks also, and didn't care what Cyrus was.

"I am very close to cracking this." Roger announced to Cyrus and his captive chimera audience. "There is only one equation that reappears often in the array's that I am unfamiliar with. That is what I am waiting to hear back from my Cretan Colleague about. He will shine some light on this mystery any day I'm sure!"

Jabby let out a squawk from its desk perch. "Alchemy. Colleague. Any day. I'm sure!" It mimicked with a sharp, inhuman screech.

"Very good Jabby." Roger praised, giving it another treat. "The moment I hear back from my colleague in Creta I will buy the train tickets-"

"Roger, can I ask you a favor?" Cyrus interrupted.

"Of course Cyrus, what is on your mind?" Roger said.

"Can you take my Stone's power away?" Cyrus wasn't surprised when the question caught Roger off guard.

"I…beg your pardon Son?" he stammered.

"After we go to Creta and find my mother, I don't want to live forever anymore. I want you to take away my immortality." Cyrus specified.

"I'm not…well, one can drain a Stone of power without using them up. A philosopher's Stone expert Dr. Marco wrote a paper on the subject. But I would not feel comfortable preforming such a procedure on you Cyrus."

Cyrus pursed his lips. "Alright. Can I get this Marco guy's number?"

Roger's face went pale and he was quick to answer. "Um, we should avoid anyone who is still active with the military. He is too close to the nationwide transmutation circle events a few years back. It's best if none of those people find out about you Cyrus.

Plus, you should put more time into this decision then three weeks. Your friend Boamos wouldn't want you making such a hasty life changing choice on his account."

"It's not for him." Cyrus corrected. His mind couldn't help but think of Florica. She waved goodbye as he and Roger drove away from camp three weeks earlier.

"You would lose more than just your immortality Cyrus. Without your Stone's power you couldn't shapeshift, or heal within moments. Give it a few years thought at least. If you are still sure…then I will look into Dr. Marco's research for you."

Cyrus nodded. It was more than he had thought to get out of the old man. He was expecting a flat no.

Roger stood, Jabby jumping onto his shoulder. "We should get packing. I promised Trovius we would arrive by tomorrow night."

"We?" I thought I was taking the train?" Cyrus said.

"And have you carry all the clothes I got for you in a travel trunk? Nonsense. That's what a car is for."

Cyrus gave him a puzzled stare. With a shrug he pulled Little Jacky off his shoulder, knowing Roger wanted it put away if they left. It squeaked in protest at the prospect of its cage. "You can take Little Jacky along. She is small enough to hide in a bag, and she is very fond of you. I intend to show off Jabby to Trovius anyway." Roger insisted.

Cyrus assumed Roger was only allowing such a thing because of his obvious depression. But he didn't complain, placing the Chimera back onto his shoulder.

* * *

"Central City." Cyrus muttered, staring out the window of Roger's car as the looming white city rose from the horizon.

"You have never been to such a place, correct?" Roger asked, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. Cyrus shook his head. "It is a very big place indeed. When I was stationed here I got lost all the time. Even walking from one lab to the other…speaking of which, do try not to wander by yourself here." He almost warned.

Cyrus gave him a sideways glance. "Eh?"

"I'm not telling you what to do, but it is a large city, I wouldn't want you to get lost. I know my way around here very well, so I can accompany you anyplace you wish to go." Roger explained with one of his manipulative smiles.

Cyrus recognized it well, as he used it himself often to get out of trouble with Trovius. "Think I'll stumble down a man hole or get kidnapped by myself?" Cyrus half joked, still not believing Roger was being so paranoid. He was spending too much time with Trovius.

"Not at all. It's the State Alchemist Parade tomorrow. There will be loud crowds, thousands of people, fireworks. Easy to get lost in." Roger said in his defense.

Large and loud crowds, fireworks, and State Alchemists. All things Cyrus normally hated. But Roger was insisting, and Cyrus was feeling rebellious. But, at the moment he was only concerned about seeing the rest of his family.

Plus, there was something Boamos wanted to get in Central, in a music store downtown on a particular date. That day was only a day away. Cyrus knew he would have to go in Boamos' place to fulfill his last request.

Only a few hours until he saw everyone, or, almost everyone. Cyrus passed the time nodding when Rodger would speak and sneaking pieces of his lunch to the two caged Chimeras in the back seat.

Sprawling white buildings made up a maze of civilization far down the road and across a vast river. The water of the river sparkled with the city's own upside-down reflection. Bright beams of light panned the night sky, as if searching for the missing stars the city's light blotted out.

"After this, we should take a trip to Araguo. You'll like it much more." Roger brought up randomly.

"A vacation right before we head to Creta?" Cyrus said, only half listening as he scanned the city across the river.

"Port of entry to Creta is easier from Araguo. The ocean air should be good for everyone. Relocating there will be simple enough after this short stop in Central…"

Cyrus turned to face him. "Move, permanently?" he asked, trying to gage if the old man was serious.

"Well, yes. I have many connections there. It's a wonderful country, and their military is not around every corner. Not much of an Alchemic community, so you will be safe."

Cyrus laughed him off. "And you think Trovius would be ok with you taking me across the border in less than a month?"

"Very much so, he agrees, and he's coming with us. Truth be told one of the reasons I am here is so I can assist Trovius convince Shelta to move the caravan back to Araguo. I can be very persuasive as you know." He said with a wink.

"This is…sudden." Cyrus said, unable to hide his shock. Roger nodded with a smile, giving no further clues about what spurred the thought.

Cyrus forgot Roger's strange behavior and the dazzling city when he spotted the Caravan. Camp was on a hill, strung with dim lamps. Cyrus couldn't even wait for the car to be completely stopped before he got out.

Florica smiled when they caught each other's gaze. Cyrus didn't hesitate to except her embrace.

"How are you holding up?" she whispered into his hair.

Cyrus forced a laugh. "You've met me right? I'm stressed out 24/7."

She laughed with him, though her focus soon landed on Little Jacky when she popped out of Cyrus' coat. Cyrus explained with a shrug. "One of Roger's Chimeras. I think Roger is in the mood to show off infront of Trovius."

"Speaking of Trovius," Florica began, giving the peeking chimera a pet. "He has been acting very odd since you left. Do you know he is trying to convince Aunt Shelta to take the caravan back to Araguo?"

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, glancing at Trovius and Roger as they spoke near the car. "Roger is trying to convince me of the same thing…Those two are up to something. Roger even told me not to wander Central City alone because he thinks I'll get lost. Like I'm five years old. Can you believe that?"

Florica smiled at him. "And you'll listen?" she wondered in disbelief.

"If by that you mean, I'll sneak out before they wake up tomorrow. Then I'll make some money, and we can go to the festival to buy you something in the evening. I owe you for me ditching for three weeks."

Florica stood on her toes to hug him around his neck. "Deal. And I'll hold you to it." She said, turning her face up to kiss him. He met her lips half way without hesitation.

* * *

Cyrus packed up his violin before the sun rose over the city. The camp was silent despite the distant chaos of Central. Little Jacky was curled up in a ball next to Florica's head. She was peaceful in sleep, laying on a blanket on the grass. Cyrus pulled a spare blanket over Florica's shoulders before he left for Central City.

The trek was a long one from the camp, but Cyrus was grateful for the extra time to acclimate to the massive city. Even early in the morning the streets overflowed with people. Military banners hung from every building. Small flags crossed from the rooftops with rope. It was the most military centric place Cyrus had ever seen. He now understood why Trovius and Roger were not thrilled about coming to Central.

Down the road Cyrus could hear the cheers of celebration. He assumed it was the beginning of the State Alchemist parade. Though Cyrus wanted to see the military pat themselves on the back with a city wide party, he had a mission first. He convinced himself if he found Boamos' package in the city; he could begin to close the chapter on his grief.

Cyrus walked down the white paved streets, following the signs to the East side of town. It took a good hour of wandering, but Cyrus found the music shop Boamos had mentioned. Compared to the other shops in the plaza it was a hole in the wall.

The bell on the door jingled as Cyrus let himself in. A short middle-aged man emerged from behind the desk and greeted him.

"I'm here to pick up something for Boamos Black." Cyrus said. Simple, but it was still hard to say Boamos' name out loud.

The clerk's face lit up. "Old Boamos! Yes of course! He called this in two months ago. How is he these days?"

Cyrus should have seen the question coming, but it still caught him off guard. "He's dead."

The news took the man aback. "Oh no… well, I guess he was bound to drink himself to death one day. Such a shame."

Cyrus only nodded as the man rustled for Boamos' item behind the desk. "Are you Cyrus?" he asked.

"Yeah." Cyrus answered with hesitation.

"I figured, since the package is addressed to you, and you have Boamos' violin."

Cyrus tensed. The package was not for Boamos, it was for him, and that somehow made things worse. He gazed down at the flat paper package, terrified what was inside. Would he be able to handle whatever Boamos had left for him?

On the top of the package was a note, signed by the drunk himself. Cyrus accepted the letter from the man and tore at the envelope. He read over the shaky words.

Dear Cyrus,

First, I'd like to say your welcome. You have no idea how hard this crappy gift was to find. Second, I know the day we found you dumped in the woods isn't technically your birthday, but hell, it's the thought that counts right?

This present is actually a two parter, because what I gotcha also comes with my crimson violin. You earned it champ. That special hunk of wood is over two hundred years old and from my great great grandfather back in Dambatchi. My dead old man would kill me for giving the violin away to someone other than my kids. But, as we all know I don't got any kids. I guess some woman didn't hate herself enough to put up with this forever bachelor.

Then again, you're a kid, sort of, and you put up with my antics, and we are all family. So I figured it was close enough.

Happy birthday Cyrus

Sincerely as I can be,

Boamos Black

Cyrus' hands shook, his eyes locked onto the words. He could almost hear Boamos' voice through the paper. The opened the package and recognized it as sheet music. It was Creta music. More particularly it was folk songs from the Arbus people. His supposed mother's people. Folk music from a different land of a dying tribe. It must have been almost impossible to find.

"Are you alright?" The clerk asked.

The man's voice startled Cyrus, who forgot he was there. "What do I owe you?" he managed to whisper. He fumbled for his wallet.

"Not a thing." The man said.

Cyrus gave him a grateful nod, not trusting his voice. He fled the store, the music clutched in his hands.

He had found himself wandering the city, his mind blank. Cyrus came to sitting on a bench across town. He rubbed at his temples, warding off a headache. He had to pull himself back to reality. With a deep breath, Cyrus carefully tucked the note and the new sheet music into his violin case. "Thanks a lot, Bastard." He whispered to Boamos' ghost.

Guns shot in unison. Cheers erupted from down the road. It was enough to pull him out of his depressed daydreaming. It was the parade, which he assumed he already missed half of. At the moment he didn't feel like going to make fun of it. He only wanted to go home.

That was, until Cyrus heard the crowd chanting a familiar name.

"Armstrong!"

"Armstrong from Lorelei's town?" Cyrus said to himself, jumping to his feet. It couldn't be the muscle bound shirtless lunatic Cyrus had seen when disguised as a soldier. Now he had to indulge his curiosity.

He approached the street and the music got louder. A wall of people stood on the sidewalk, obscuring most of the view. Cyrus pushed his way through. Rows of blue uniformed men and women marched along the road in mechanical unison. The first row played the anthem of Amestris while the group following fired their guns into the air.

Blue alchemic light drew Cyrus' gaze. It was the same Armstrong, just as shirtless, marching with a cheerful smile under his blond mustache. Covering both fists were his large alchemic metal gloves. Armstrong smashed his gauntlets into a rock he tossed skyward. When his fist collided with the stone it exploded into a transmutation. The transmuted rocks now resembled the man's own face and bald head. The crowd gave a cheer, drowning out Cyrus' sarcastic laughter.

The alchemist marched on, and a train of cars drove by. Cyrus heard the crowd's excitement bubble over. He heard mention of Fuhrer Grumman, the leader of their nation. Cyrus had mocked the man alongside Boamos, but had never seen him outside the newspaper.

The guarded car rolled by, with the old, decorated Fuhrer waving in his seat. He was a pale, spindly geezer with a long straight nose and rounded glasses. He waved to the crowd with a simple white toothed grin. Sitting primly across from the Fuhrer in the car was an older woman. Dressed modest and wearing a warm almost grandmotherly smile.

Cyrus put together this was the former Fuhrer's wife, madam Bradly. He assumed this as people muttered around Cyrus as the car drove by.

"She looks so good for her age."

"Grumman is smart to keep her by his side, she knows more about this country then he does."

"Such a brave woman…lost her husband and her son and she's still smiling."

Cyrus spotted a bright-eyed boy by Madam Bradly's side, almost falling out of the car to wave to the crowd. He appeared to be five years old, with dark hair and a wide smile. Behind his bangs stood a large, obvious red splotch of a birthmark. Cyrus wondered if he had seen a picture of the child before, because his face made a chill of recollection creep up his spin.

It was a dark feeling, like shadows of the past slithering into his mind. The child fixated on him, as if Cyrus was the only one in the crowd. The uncomfortable feeling faded as soon as the boy smiled. Cyrus let the feeling die, brushing it off as paranoia. The boy turned to keep his eyes on Cyrus as they drove by, waving. Cyrus gave in; worried the kid may fall out of the car, and waved back.

Every female in the crowd gave a deafening wail of approval as a new car approached. "Oh it's General Mustang!" one girl exclaimed. Cyrus rolled his eyes. Some overrated General seeping up the attention would be rolling by. He remained at the front of the mass, wondering if this one would be as crazy as Armstrong.

An open roofed black car crept by, sitting a pack of soldiers. One sat above the others, waving with a board air about them. The black haired, pale-faced alchemist turned to give Cyrus' side of the street a charming smile.

Familiarity struck Cyrus like a train.

Cyrus tried to back away, feeling the heat of fire on his face. The crowd resisted, keeping him from escaping. He shook his head, struggling to process reality. The tunnels flashed before his eyes. The crowd cheering on his death.

He came to, still standing locked on the road side. The car had not yet passed. Little time had.

The military man turned, his black eyes scanning the faces. Then they both locked eyes, and the hot summer day turned frigid. The smile dropped from the military man's face like an anchor. Shocked confusion had taken over the man's features. He turned his whole body to keep Cyrus in his sights as the car pulled him along.

The black-eyed man. The one who hunted him down in the tunnels with fire. He was yelling at the driver to stop the car.

'Run.' Was all Cyrus was able to say to himself. But he was frozen, fear icing his bones.

Confusion shook the crowd when the General leapt out of the car when it failed to stop on his command. 'Run!' Cyrus shoved his way back into the sea of people.

Cyrus pushed his panic down into his stomach. It cleared his mind but made him nauseous. He didn't run, knowing it would only part the crowd and draw attention. He had to disappear. 'Shape shift?' That would be stupid in front of all these people. He still had Shelta's grandfather's clothes on, plus the violin. His shape shifting wouldn't get rid of those.

'Just keep going. Get around the corner and then run.' He thought. Cyrus got out of the mass of people and quickened his pace, his teeth clamped tight. His head was pounding, fighting to keep memories from invading.

He was almost to the market and then he would make a break for home.

Someone was yelling behind him. He refrained from turning.

"Homunculus!" The voice was more of a deep growl. It belonged to a man, dark and commanding. The inflection filled Cyrus with a dread that iced its way through his bones. Still he continued, retaining his air of ignorance.

A single loud clap, a snap of fingers. The spot Cyrus was about to step exploded into flames. Cyrus stumbled back before the spontaneous fire could lick his legs. The heat and smoke made him gag. His heart pounded as the world spun.

His ears still ringing, Cyrus turned, meeting fiery onyx eyes glaring him down.

Dark black eyes. A murderous face hidden by black hair. The man from his nightmares who had hunted him down in those tunnels stood only a few yards away.

The Black-eyed soldier's vengeful face turned into a disgusted sneer and with a hiss he spoke. "How the hell are you still alive, _Envy_?"

* * *

Took me long enough to get to Roy Mustang eh?


	24. Chapter 24

Hello all. So a week late…better than nothing I suppose. Also my sister had a very cute baby, and then three generations of family descended with clashing political views…so I have been busy you could say. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy, and see you at next week's update!

* * *

Central Command

One day before the State Alchemist Parade

* * *

"Sir, wake up!" the voice of his Captain was enough to jar General Roy Mustang from his light sleep. His groggy eyes landed on his promoted Captain Riza Hawkeye. She was staring at him from the other side of his desk, a scowl on her light skinned and irritated face. He had drifted off at his desk again, and the Captain seemed beyond sick of the resurfacing old habit.

Roy yawned, rubbing his face and tightening up his blue military uniform. "How long was I asleep?" he asked.

"Well, I gave _those_ papers to you about three hours ago, and since they are in the same place I left them, I'd guess three hours." She growled. Roy's dark eyes trailed from his Captain to the stacks of papers decorating his desk.

"Oh." He said, clearing his throat and opening his silver State Alchemist pocket watch. Hawkeye had been right about the time, which he didn't doubt. He checked out of habit. Three more hours of work. Then he could crash into his own bed. Roy hadn't been feeling well the past few days. The upcoming State Alchemist parade looming the following day would not help his growing headache.

"You know sir, neglecting your work won't make it go away." She informed him in that knowing yet commanding voice that only Hawkeye could pull off. She was also the only one under him who dared challenge the great General Mustang's orders. Theirs was a strange bond, one which went back years and consisted of many wars, conflicts and then even death itself. Roy thought on their recent past as he studied the tall, blond haired woman in front of him.

Buried deep in that memory two years ago…the day he almost lost her. "Sir?" She snapped, annoyed he seemed to be ignoring her. Quite to the contrary, he was focused on her very intently.

"Sorry." He finally said in his own deep authoritative tone, which was nullified somewhat by his sheepish apology.

"If this continues to be a problem you should take some time off." She offered.

"I'll manage…though, I'd consider some time off only if you joined me." He added, giving her a wink. It earned from his Captain a roll of her amber eyes.

"Get back to work sir." She hissed, heading for the door. Roy found it funny how she was able to boss him around, despite the fact he was her boss.

"Are you growing your hair out again Captain?" he went on, still making no move towards the stack of papers. The comment had the desired affect and Riza stopped in the doorway of the large office. It didn't seem like she was, as it seemed as short as usual. He took every opportunity to remind her how much he liked it longer. "You're lovely today you know." He added, very unprofessionally at that.

"Not the time or the place General." She chastised on her way to leave. She paused at the door, and then turned to face him, a seductive grin in place of her usual scowl. "Save it for home." She promised before leaving him alone in his office. Mustang allowed himself a lustful smile before finally getting back to work.

It hadn't been two minutes before the phone on his desk rang, giving him one more reason to put off the work in front of him. When he answered with his usual, "General Mustang, who is this?" he hadn't expected the familiar voice of Führer Grumman on the other line. "Oh, hello Führer Grumman, what do I owe this pleasure?"

"So formal." Snickered the sixty some year old man in his scratchy voice. "I'd say old friends such as us can address each other on a first name bases."

Now Roy was the one who laughed. "So what kind of trouble do you need me to get you out of this time?" He chuckled, now falling back into his casual tone even while speaking with the leader of Amestris. Current leader. Mustang had every intention of gaining the title one day, sooner than later. "You know I have my own messes to clean up? I'm still working to rebuild the infrastructure of Ishval, which is hard when I'm sent more work every day."

"Well this will do well to get your mind off of all that. My problem has to do with the Cretan issue." Grumman explained.

Roy stiffened. Without thinking he reached under his desk to an unseen part that he had to unlock. He pulled out a note he had copied almost a year earlier. "The sender of the message, Lyda?" Roy guessed, looking over the paper.

"We aren't sure, but we got another message. Unlike the first addressed to you this new message was much easier to crack. In short it was a warning. They mentioned spies in our rank. We knew our communications were likely bugged. I didn't want to think we could be infiltrated by Cretan spies."

Roy pursed his already thin lips. The message he had received, and now studied again had mentioned spies spilling into the country. His eyes couldn't help but scan over the words again, trying to find anything he could have missed.

It had been a year ago when a telegraph message sent through three different layers of code straight to his office. His team still didn't know how the sender was able to break their own codes to send it through. On first glance the message was a scrambled mess of numbers which Roy decoded into a language. Not just any language; It was an ancient Cretan tribal language belonging to the Arbus people. From there, it became an alchemic formula, and finally the final message.

 _I address this message to Roy Mustang, of the Amestrian military. My name is Lyda, and I am a humble servant of my people, the Arbus Tribe. I am a prisoner of war in Creta. These Cretan dogs have stolen one of my people's beloved treasures, which was the heart of our lands._

 _This information I am sending is forbidden to tell outsiders, but I have run out of options. I beg your help General Roy Mustang, for my living now may not apply when I am discovered. My life matters not. Before my capture I sent the three remaining treasures into your lands. To you, they are called Philosopher's Stone's. But these are different from those you know. These glow with a heavenly white hue, and their power, if used correctly, can be infinite. I hid these Stone within flask dolls. I implore your help to find these Dolls that carry my people's treasure. I know Cretan spies will spill across your boarders in search of them, most likely trailing my people. If you should find my flask dolls first, keep them from the Cretan dogs at all cost._

 _I know of your countries brush with death two years ago. I also know it was not orchestrated by your military's higher command. The minds behind the scheme were Flask Dolls, eight in total. I assume because of this familiarity you should be able to locate my dolls. I fear a similar fate of mass death could befall my people if these Stone's fall into Creta's hands._

 _If you should turn a blind eye to my peoples suffering, I warn you. This threat cannot be contained by nation's borders._

"We've been searching for any possible leads on a traitor within higher command. " Grumman intoned, interrupting Roy's train of thought. "But so far we've found nothing."

"What about the 'Flask Dolls' Lyda mentioned. We know in Creta that is their word for Homunculi. Nothing like those monsters have shown up have they?" Roy was hesitant to ask. When he discovered what 'Flask Dolls' meant Roy recalled the unpleasant memories of the final fight with Father.

It was enough to prompt Roy to visit the broken lair that once housed Father. Of course it was picked clean by the military. All Fathers notes were collected and studied, his army of chimeras destroyed, and the lair itself broken and locked down. Roy passed the two officers still stationed at the entrance and stood next to the decrepit throne. Nothing remained there but the still lingering feeling of dread.

"Actually, we may have. Did you get the newest papers from my office?" Grumman asked.

Roy gave the intimidating stack of papers on his desk a glance. "Yes?" he guessed. He proceeded to sift through the fray until he located the file. All the while he ignored Grumman's knowing snicker. Roy opened the file, and found a black and white photo of a family. Four people, two women and two men, sat unsmiling in chairs. Over them was an elderly man, a prideful smile displayed with his hands resting on two children. A brother and sister, leaning into who Roy assumed was their grandfather. It was a strange dynamic. The four people in the chairs went unnoticed, as if they were statues, or dolls.

"Our intelligence has unearthed this photo from a confiscated Cretan military document. In it we learned these people, or at least the elderly man and the two children, are part of the Arbus tribe, and highly respected."

"And the four corpses they have propped up in chairs?" Roy asked.

"Those are the four Homunculi."

Roy grabbed a magnifying glass out of his desk. He looked into the faces of the sitting people. Then he saw the cat like irises. The pale porcelain skin. Ouroboros tattoos marking each of them. They were far from the Homunculi Roy had known. "Where are they now?"

"According to Cretan record, all destroyed." Grumman said. "That man in the middle created the four "dolls." They are to house a different type of philosophers Stone, four all together. The record says the Arbus tribe was overthrown and the creator killed by a Cretan attack. They were looking for the Stones. Three of the dolls were thought to be destroyed but the Stone's salvaged by the remaining Arbus people. The last Homunculus was captured by the Cretan military. It wasn't much of a challenge apparently. The creature had no self-preservation instincts. It sat for hours, only moving its eyes to follow people around the room. It didn't respond to pain, and didn't speak unless spoken to, and it would answer in simple one or two word answers. Hardly the lively Homunculi you scorched eh?"

"And they killed that one too?" Roy asked.

"Yes, and like Lyda's message, the records say its Stone was white. But, when they attempted to use the Stone it rebounded and killed everyone in a twenty yard radius. It was a very gruesome death. There was a trick to using these Stone's, one which the Arbus creator took to his grave…but there may still be hope yet. Those two children are Darbus, and Lyda."

"The message sender?" Roy asked, his eyes landing on the little girl in the photo. "So she sent the three remaining Homunculi into our country? You would think these dead eyed people would have been noticed in two years."

"For all we know they have been sitting still in the woods for two years, who knows. But now we can start a country wide search. These Homunculi don't seem to be a threat like our last bunch, but the Stone's they carry are dangerous and need to be found. Preferably, before the Cretan spies do." Grumman said.

"I'll get my men on it." Roy promised, locking the picture away. Once we have the three Arbus Homunculi we can work on recovering the one White Stone still in Cretan custody."

"Not before the Parade tomorrow I hope." Grumman chuckled.

Roy's face fell into a scowl. He would be damned if Grumman brought up the State Alchemist parade after such a serious conversation. He already had to dodge Armstrong about the topic at every turn.

The phone clicked, and Roy was alone with his thoughts. He knew better than anyone that was a mistake. "We have three living dolls to find in our country…it would be so much easier if we could start a public wide search." He said out loud. They couldn't involve the public in the matter of homunculi, even if they weren't like the children of Father.

The whole truth about the nationwide Philosopher's Stone was never revealed to the public. It wouldn't go well if people knew their country was manipulated from its inception by mythical creatures.

Roy clenched one of his fists as he stared into his own reflection in the window. Turning back to his desk, his eyes drifted to a framed picture near the left corner. The photo was from eight years before. It contained himself and his best friend Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, or Brigadier General as he was promoted after his death. Maes was given the title when he was 'killed while serving his country.' That was on file, and Roy still couldn't help but scoff at the idea. It made it sound as if he had died in battle, which he hadn't. Maes was murdered, by one of Father's homunculus children. The shape shifting Homunculus Roy still refused to name even four years later, in his head or out loud.

"Calm down, you always get worked up about things you can't control." Roy almost heard Maes snicker. It would be what the optimistic man would say if he heard Roy's inner thoughts. "Make things better now as opposed to making the past look pretty in your head." Roy swallowed as the echo of his friends voice rang in his head. He found himself staring at the bearded man with his wide smile in the picture.

"It's what you would say." Roy stated to the picture, safe from prying ears in the confines of his office. "But you didn't say it, because you're gone." He admitted to himself. No voice of Maes came to challenge this comment, which further reminded Roy he was only talking to himself. The General chuckled to himself humorlessly. He felt crazy talking to the ghost of his friend, but in especially dark times he found himself doing it. He had to be strong for his country and his men, so there would be no telling Hawkeye how he felt. It was his own burden, and he had to think of those who were still living.

Glancing back at the picture he thought of Maes' family. "Your daughter Elicia is turning eight soon." He told the picture of Maes. "But I'm sure you know that...I'll have to send something…" he reminded himself almost in a whisper. It was the last thing he said in his one-way conversation with his dead friend, and the last word he spoke while at work.

* * *

Riza was getting rather worried when Roy didn't talk on the ride back to their apartment. His onyx eyes were focused on something farther then what she could see. The automobile came to a stop in front of their large military issued apartment. Riza noticed Roy testing the lock on their door before entering. She didn't question it, knowing by the glance he gave her an explanation would come soon.

Hanging up her guns and uniform, Riza got dressed into something more comfortable before returning to the living room. Roy had finished snapping the curtains shut. Riza's dog Black Hayate sat alert by the door, seeming to sense the tension as she did.

"We need to talk." He explained finally.

"I figured. What exactly is going on?" she demanded, now very concerned. Roy handed her Lyda's message to him. It was the first time he shared it with her, or his men.

"Führer Grumman's team got another message a month ago warning us about spies. We are hoping it wasn't infiltrated by the enemy." Roy explained when she looked up from the note.

"How did they know about Father and the homunculi?" Riza asked.

"Still too early to say. But Lyda isn't talking about Father's homunculi, she's talking about her own. " Roy looked at his second in command when she let out a sigh.

"It's only been four years…and there's a chance its coming back? She whispered her tone hopeless. It took Roy aback, which was rather uncharacteristic of Hawkeye. She wasn't shaken, not by a possibility.

"Our greatest threat is spies, not alchemic monsters this time. Don't worry." He felt like he had to assure her. Her eyes were still downcast onto the note. Roy rested a gentle hand under her chin, encouraging her to look him in the eye. "Are you ok? You're not yourself." He observed. Riza blinked, her eyes finding the floor again.

"I'm-" she paused, choosing her words carefully. "I'm fine." She assured him, facing Roy with more confidence. He smiled, leaning down, his hand still cupping her chin. She met his lips half way, wrapping her one arm around his neck to deepen the kiss. Roy smiled against her lips, running his hands down her back to rest on her thighs. A breathless gasp escaped Riza before she ran her fingers through his short black hair.

Pulling Roy towards their couch in the living room, she shoved him into the love seat. She was quick to straddle him. Roy was busy shrugging out of his military coat under her, his shirt would come next. Riza rested her hands on either side of his head, leaning down to reestablish their previous kiss.

In such an intense moment, it was jarring when the phone's ring demanded the couple's full attention. The two gave each other a look, Roy's being one of great disappointment. Riza's was one of irony. If they hadn't received a top secret mission Roy would have let it ring. Riza let him up, and Roy sighed as he grudgingly made his way over to the phone before answering with a flat "hello?"

"Oh good! I was afraid you wouldn't be home General! I hope I'm not interrupting dinner." Said a very deep, theatrical voice, which made Roy sigh again. He knew he should have ignored the phone ring.

"Not dinner." Roy corrected, but didn't go any further into an explanation. "What can I help you with Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?"

"I was calling in response to an urgent matter which has been brought to my attention." The deep voiced man said. He was urgent, serious.

Roy frowned with a similar urgency. "So you've already been informed then Lieutenant Colonel? That's faster than I thought, since I haven't even told my men yet." Roy noted. He wondered why Führer Grumman decided to bring the Lieutenant Colonel in on the Cretan conspiracy.

"I was informed the moment it was brought to my attention by my two First Lieutenants. What is this I hear about you not wanting to be in the State Alchemist parade tomorrow?!" Armstrong demanded in a raised voice. The dramatic change in tone almost made Roy fall to the floor, the seriousness of the moment going up in smoke.

"Damnit Armstrong! I thought this was something important!" Roy hissed through the receiver.

"It is very important General!" The Lieutenant Colonel yelled back. "You were integral in saving this country and all its people and this parade commemorates that! You'll never be popular enough to one day become the Führer of Amestris if you stay out of the public eye!" he insisted. Roy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off his growing frustration.

"I happen to be busy. Something troubling has come to my attention and I don't have time to be marching in a parade." It wasn't like Roy had never made public appearances in his life; in fact he did them all the time. The State Alchemist Parade occurred every year, and its popularity had increased after the events four years before. Roy had attended it each year since he joined the military. He figured it wouldn't be detrimental to his career if he skipped one.

"Something troubling? What's more troubling then your public image?" Armstrong demanded. "The people want to honor your bravery Mustang! You would deny your soon to be subjects this?"

Roy found himself sighing again, this time in defeat. There was no arguing with the man, especially when he became passionate about some random issue. It would be time consuming, but not devastating to Roy's schedule. Führer Grumman would be making an appearance at the parade. He could take the opportunity to talk to him more about the message. It would be worth it in the end.

"Alright fine Lieutenant Colonel …" Roy agreed finally. "But I can't stay afterwards for the party, you know there's still a lot of work to-"

"Then it's settled! I told my men there was nothing to worry about. All it took was a helping hand from an inspiring old friend to make you choose the right thing! You see General, the social talent for encouragement and self-betterment has been passed down the Armstrong line-" Roy cut him off by slamming down the phone.

"So then you're going to the parade now?" Riza asked. She couldn't suppress the snicker in her tone.

"It would seem. I can talk to Grumman while I'm there, so it won't be a total waste." Roy grumbled.

"Plus, you will be able to see your adoring fans." She added, not hiding her teasing in the slightest. Roy shot her a look but then soon smiled as well, returning to his place by her side at the couch.

"I suppose that would be a travesty, to deny my fans the pleasure of seeing my hansom face." He chuckled before brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Though they will be disappointed since I'm already taken."

Riza half smiled, pecking him on the lips. "If only they knew what a handful you were." She retorted.

"Well in that case thanks for putting up with me." He said, giving her a lustful stair. This made a blush come to her cheeks.

"It was worth it." She added, resting her head on his shoulder while Roy folded his arms around her in a protective manner.

"Then I don't feel as guilty." He laughed. The conversation stopped. No more words having to be said as the two finally were able to enjoy each other's company in private.

* * *

The streets of Central were packed the following day due to the upcoming parade. It made Roy and Riza's ride to Central Command even longer. They arrived at the large white fortress overlooking the bustling city. Banners hung from every side. Fresh painted tanks waited in the parade line. Walking down the hallways of the polished building Roy and Riza arrived at his office where he found the rest of his men waiting.

Breda hopped out of Roy's chair as the General entered the room, plastering on a sarcastic smile. Across from the hefty man was the much leaner Havoc, who of course had a smoking cigarette between his teeth. The only one seeming to be doing actual work was the much smaller Fuery. So busy with his work Fuery didn't seem to notice his glasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose.

The lanky Captain Falman wasn't there. He had remained in his relocated station up north and had since started a family. Roy was sad to lose the intelligent man, but he still helped from a distance. He would need them all with the new threat.

"Nice to see you sir, your only forty minutes late this time." Havoc quipped after taking a long drag from his smoke. Fuery spun around in his chair, a bright smile on his much younger face.

"We were starting to worry you wouldn't make it for your debut on the streets of Central. Good to see the Lieutenant Colonel convinced you otherwise." He said, trying very hard not to snicker in his bosses face. Roy observed their playful banter, feeling saddened by the fact he had to cut it short.

"Yes, we all have such high expectations of me." Roy snickered. He gave his pocket watch a glance but didn't check the time. "I guess I need to start working harder, so I don't disappoint you all again." He added, tapping his fingers on his desk.

All at once the room's joyful tone turned cold. They all recognized the message. A preexisting code they used if they thought someone was listening. Though startled, Roy was proud of his team when they turned the mood around, keeping up the act.

"Always an honor," Breda sniffed, sounding board. "So aside from the parade, what's on the list for today?" he wondered, in code asking Roy what was going on.

Roy shrugged, giving his usual pompous smile before answering. "The usual. People clamoring to get more work out of us. I'm sure we can keep the fray at bay." Fuery glanced at the communications radio when he heard the word "spy" in that message.

"We always handle it." Havoc insisted, flicking the light out of the open window.

Roy told his men that there was very serious business to discuss following the parade. They were not going to be attending the after party that Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong was insistent they show up for. No one argued the fact, and despite the serious business they all seemed rather relieved. Führer Grumman would meet Roy after the parade in a safe room where they knew it was only them listening. Once they had all the facts then they could start the investigation.

The team made their way down the elevator towards the room in which the military would begin their march. Havoc tried to cut though the tension with some sort of small talk. "So this new girl I'm with is serious," he said, glaring at Breda when he started to snicker.

"Are we taking bets this time as well?" Breda wondered.

"You'll lose whatever you put down." Havoc growled. Most of the elevator, save for Riza, started laughing.

"You never struck me as the guy to settle down with kids." Fuery said as the doors open.

"General Mustang!" exclaimed the excited voice of a boy. The conversation died immediately. Running towards the group from his mother's side was a child, appearing only four years old on the surface. Dressed up, bright purple eyes, and trimmed black hair that hid the obvious red node on his forehead. A scar from what the boy had been before.

"Selim dear, don't run up to people screaming." Chastised the gentle voice of the boy's 'mother'. The aging Madam Bradly walked up to the child and placed both hands on his shoulders. The gesture did little to contain his flailing excitement. She looked up at the group to give them an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry; he's so excited to see the parade." She explained.

"And why shouldn't he be?" intoned the chuckling Führer, who's eyes found Roy's behind his wiry glasses. "Our country shining bright, people in the streets cheering, there is a lot to be prideful of." The group saluted their leader, though Roy was the first to drop his hand. The boy began jumping up and down, unable to contain his excitement when speaking to his mother.

"Mamma, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong was right! The General and his men are going to be with the other State Alchemists!" Selim said.

Fuery was the first to address the boy, his tone polite and careful. "Are you going to be riding with your mother and Führer Grumman?"

To this Selim's face brightened even further. "Yeah! I can finally be in the parade too! I wanted to wear a uniform, but I have to be part of the military for that…when I get older though!" he insisted.

Despite the grim mood hanging over everyone it was hard not to match the boy's enthusiasm. It was sometimes easy to forget the innocent boy was once the oldest and strongest of the homunculi. It was only by the intervention from Edward Elric that he was alive, stripped of all his powers, immortality, and memories. He started new as a small 'almost' human little boy. His mother was his greatest advocate. Her pull and support in higher government contributed to the decision to allow the boy to live. From what it seemed, Selim had not even the slightest clue what he had been before. This was good, especially for him, as any type of memory of Pride would mean the end of the boy. This was put in place four years before when they allowed him to live.

"Alright Selim, you've bothered the poor General and his men enough. The parade is about to start and we need to get into place." His mother insisted. Selim pondered this, and then beamed a smile. He gave them an overzealous salute, which they returned in a playful manner.

"He is growing up fast," Grumman muttered, observing the mother and child as they left to get into place.

"Does he have any memories of Pride?" Riza asked.

"No, which is good news. The team observing him wonder if rekindling memories are even possible." The statement was vague. Anyone listening wouldn't understand what they were talking about. "We can talk later of course. I suppose you wouldn't mind a quick update in political issues I have been combatting. I hope you are not to disappointed having to miss the after party." Grumman said, snickering as he left with his security. Roy tried not to roll his eyes at the old man's theatrics.

They road through the city to the cheers and music. Roy put on his most winning face despite his spinning thoughts. By some miracle they didn't run into the large muscular and show boating Lieutenant Colonel. This was due to the group avoiding him at all costs. Roy also heard the man's whimsical laughter and blue alchemy as he showed off for the crowd. The many smiling faces blurred together, and Roy was doing all he could not to look worried.

He saw his men with a similar façade, smiling but focused. The General was counting down the seconds. At the end of the parade's run they would return to Command and start tracking down the spies. He had to remind himself that any threat from the Cretans wouldn't be as bad as the one they faced before.

They could deal with whatever…"What was that?" Roy stated out loud. His team glanced at him with a start when he almost stood up in the car.

"Sir?" Riza demanded, clicking her gun out of sight. Roy didn't answer her. He hadn't heard her voice, or the music or screaming fans. The Cretan conspiracy was gone from his brain when he recognized a face in the crowd. This face was one which he would never forget. It looked as it did four years before, right before Roy unleashed his fire upon it.

Roy was stressed; sleep deprived, and was ready to insist he was seeing things. He now agreed with Riza that he needed a vacation very far away. After the business with Creta he and Riza would have to take the train to Xing…

He glimpsed once again a mess of black hair through the sea of people. Roy willed the look alike to turn to prove himself wrong. By chance the person did, before Roy's car drove by.

They were no look alike. It wasn't his mind playing a sick deluded trick on him. Long sectioned black hair framed the sickly pale complexion of a teen looking face. Inhuman purple eyes scanned the parade. Even down to the same damned red alchemic symbol on his headband. For four years he hadn't given the homunculus its name in his mind. The beast that shot Maes Hughes point blank while wearing his wife's face.

The homunculus Envy.

They caught eyes. The homunculus did a double take, their gaze locking onto the other. They were both frozen, time slowing and the faces of the crowd blurring. The confused recollection on the homunculus' face twisted into terror. Then he turned on his bare heels and fled.

"Stop the car!" Roy commanded.

"Sir, what is going on?" Riza demanded. Breda, Havoc, and Furey loaded their weapons as well, already on edge and expecting an attack.

Roy leapt out, yanking on his ignition gloves that would provide the spark for his flames. Riza scrambled out after him with the others in tow. Sensing the urgency from the military man, the crowd parted for him and his men. Roy stopped where he had seen the creature, spinning around in search of it.

"I saw him," Roy muttered before Riza could ask once more. It provided very little insight into what he was actually talking about. "There was someone here a second ago." Roy half yelled at a man he had seen standing next to his possible hallucination. "Long black hair, skinny, red symbol on their head." He continued to explain, and Riza was staring dumbfounded at the back of her superior's head. He was describing the long dead Homunculus Envy.

The man Roy asked rubbed his chin, taking far too long to think about it. "The kid with the trench coat and instrument case?" He asked.

Roy couldn't honestly say as he hadn't noticed what the lookalike was wearing. "Where did they go?" Roy demanded.

"Down into the market, like a ghost was chasing em." the man answered, pointing down the road. Roy ran, his teammates yelling after him. He wasn't convinced he hadn't finally snapped under the stress. His subordinates were screaming at him to stop. He didn't care. Roy had to prove himself wrong. It was some random kid that had the misfortune of looking like the freak from his past. His glare scared the kid, making him run. Maybe he had drugs on him or something. Even still Roy wouldn't be able to sleep that night or ever again if he didn't settle this.

Roy turned the corner, scanned the market, and stopped cold in his tracks. Riza and the others almost ran into his back from the abrupt stop.

"Sir, what the hell is going on?" Riza demanded, trying to yank his shoulder to make him face her. She looked past him, her eyes zeroing in on a Barefooted teen hurrying across the road. She now understood Roy's misunderstanding. The hair matched Envy's. Now that Roy had stopped they could talk it out and clear everything up.

Then the long haired person turned to glance around himself. Seeing his face Riza felt the air leave her body.

"Homunculus!" Roy hissed. The teen jumped, than broke out into a run.

Roy clapped his hands, than snapped his fingers on his fine aiming hand. The small explosion brought Envy to a stop. He backed away from the fire, his body shaking under his trench coat. Then he turned, coming face to face with Roy who now was certain.

Somehow, beyond logic or reason, Envy was still alive. Roy intended to fix that.


	25. Chapter 25

'How is this happening?' Cyrus thought. He backed away from the smoldering path before him. 'It can't be real.'

* * *

 _"No… please don't. I don't want to die!"_

 _"I'm not giving you a choice, now burn in hell!"_

* * *

Cyrus took a shallow breath, smoke invading his lungs. It brought him back to reality, but the real world was no longer safe.

Black eyes were glaring through him. The tormentor from his dreams was now in the light of day. Cyrus could see every detail. The hard lines carving the man's forehead, weighing down his brow. His metal clad uniform, displaying the career of a dangerous killer.

Cyrus took an instinctive step back. The man advanced, as if they were attached by some unseen force. Cyrus recognized one of the other military officers behind him. It was the blond haired woman who had been in those tunnels, holding her bleeding shoulder and watching him burn. Currently, her gun was drawn and pointed between his eyes. Three others stood by the woman, focused and stoic, awaiting the command to fire. The command didn't come from the dark eyed soldier.

Instead he spoke to Cyrus, his black brows creased down. "Nothing to say for yourself, Envy?" he hissed, advancing a single step forward.

Cyrus felt his lips moving to reply. Out of every question he had, the first to fall out of his head seemed insignificant. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

The man scoffed. "You go by something else now?" his tone was accusing.

' _Now_?' Cyrus noted the word he used. They had a history, and one, which he didn't remember anything of besides how it ended. He was going into this situation completely blind. Cyrus had no context other than the fire the man wielded and his willingness to using it on him.

He knew he had to say something. Finally Cyrus settled on answering the man's question. "Cyrus." He finally admitted. His answer gave the man pause. Cyrus was desperate to know what he was thinking. The man's black eyes twitched, dissecting the answer. "You have me mistaken for someone else." Cyrus said when the man gave no reply.

"Bullshit. The moment you saw me you ran. Have an excuse for that Homunculus?" he demanded.

"Your right, I am a homunculus…I didn't know that was a crime though." Cyrus spat back boldly. The man clenched his white gloved fists. Cyrus tried not to flinch. The crackling of fire behind him reminded Cyrus to drop his challenging tone. He studied the military man, searching for the weapon that created the inferno. He seemed to be the only one among the soldiers unarmed.

The standoff had attracted quite a crowed. The fire had died behind him, and unlike in those tunnels, Cyrus now had witnesses. He wouldn't be set ablaze in font of all these people. That was at least what he hoped. "I'm not who you think I am so leave me alone." Cyrus said, getting ready to turn away from the man and his pack of soldiers.

The General clapped his hands together. Blue alchemic light surrounded his hands before he snapped his fingers. A blast of fire flew by Cyrus' head, burning a few strands of his hair. He stood frozen; eyes wide with terror as his mind registered the blazing heat missing his skin. He made out the gasps of people around them. Cyrus looked up from the fire to face him. Those sparking gloved hands were raised towards him.

'Alchemy.' Cyrus realized. He created the fire using alchemy, ignited by those gloves. Everything made sense, but Cyrus couldn't think about celebrating. His mouth was dry, and now the fear rose in him. Like it did that first night he awoke in his new life.

"That was a warning shot. Get down on your knees, _now_." The man hissed. Slow, Cyrus complied.

The soldiers advanced on him once Cyrus was on the ground. The dark eyed leader of the pack walked closer, and Cyrus knew he was going to die. The people around him wouldn't help him. How could they help him if it meant going against the military man and the devastating fire he possessed? He was alone, like he was in the tunnels, only this time he would have an audience to his demise.

Staring up into the onyx eyes of his previous and soon to be killer. Cyrus remembered a scenario very similar.

 _On his knees which crushed against the rough stone beneath him, looking up at the man who was poised to attack. Then fire. His own blood curdling screams bounced off the tunnel walls. Before his body could regenerate more fire engulfed him again and again and again. Then there was darkness._

Cyrus was back in the present when the man was upon him, standing poised to attack. His body reacted before he could think. He stumbled up to his feet and bolted in the opposite direction, fleeing for his life. Heavy boots dashed after him, but no fire consumed him like he suspected. The people around them did save him in a way. The man couldn't unleash his fire into the crowed, so the crowed was exactly where Cyrus ran.

He could get away, he'd survive this time. Cyrus repeated this in his mind as his bare feet smacked the street below him. The violin case on his shoulder swung and hindered his running. He pulled it closer as he dashed faster.

Had he lost them? He felt as if it wouldn't be worth turning to find out. The edge of the city was in his sights. He was almost there, but gasped in horror when he realized where his body had been taking him. He was running back towards camp, which was absolutely out of the question. He would be damned if he brought the man and his fire to his family. Cyrus took a sharp left, weaving back into the city. Once he lost them then he'd return to camp and warn everybody. He and the Caravan would be long gone by the time the military followed him there.

He was back onto a sidewalk, running parallel to a long line of buildings. He was jarred to a stop as something snagged his shoulder. Looking back, he saw a railing had wrapped around the strap of the violin case and yanked it off his shoulder. The case thud to the ground. He couldn't leave Boamos' violin behind, it was one of the few things he had left of him. Cyrus scrambled to grab the case, looking up to see this had bought his pursuers far too much time. He was able to evade by ducking into an ally.

Cyrus inhaled sharply. This was a mistake. Ahead he saw he had run into a dead end. What was worse, there was no longer a shield of people for him to hide in. 'Get above them.' He thought. Cyrus ran towards the alley's back wall. He would propel himself off each opposite facing wall until he was on the roof. If he gained the higher ground he'd loose them.

He was about half way up before the sound of a snap seemed to stop time. Searing fire was licking up his feet and lower legs. "Ah!" he gasped, pain boiling into his skin. Cyrus lost his footing and came crashing to the ground.

The impact hurt, but was nothing compared to the agonizing burning of his legs. Cyrus slapped at his legs to extinguish them, burning his hands in the process. His body reacted to the injury, crackling with red lightning as it always did. The fire had burned away the lower half of his inherited pants, showing off the angry red flesh underneath.

Cyrus stared at the damage in shock. He exhaled through his teeth, hissing out his pain. He hovered his trembling hands over the wounds uselessly.

Footsteps approached and his head shot up. Too late he remembered who had caused the pain. His pursuers raced from the entrance of the ally towards him. Cyrus drug himself backwards on still healing hands, whimpering. It was pointless as the man and his soldiers were upon him.

The fire alchemist clapped his hands again and raised a hand to snap. Cyrus' vision went dark. Fire would consume his body whole this time. In a sad attempt to protect himself Cyrus raised his hands in front of his face. He winced in anticipation of the agony that would follow. None came, and he glanced at the fire maker.

"Please no. Don't I-" Cyrus begged, not even sure what he was saying, though it was all hauntingly familiar. In those tunnels he had pleaded for mercy, and then he died. Would the same happen now? Was he going to die? The pain, his approaching death, it was all too much take.

He gagged. Cyrus threw up his breakfast onto the street, leaving his stomach and throat boiling. His whole body ached in different levels of pain. His legs were healing but still stung. His eyes watered from retching up the contents of his stomach. He wanted to get up and run. A stronger part of him thought he'd be able to absorb the damage and pain if it meant getting passed the man. But he knew his own limits, which he had passed a while ago. Instead, he looked up at his attacker, finding the same glare on his pale face, which he had worn all those years ago.

The soldiers with him didn't seem as confident. "Sir." Said the blonde woman. Cyrus broke his gaze with the man to lock eyes with her. Her face was apprehensive. "Something isn't' right. I don't recall Envy acting like this."

The military man's face twitched. "What's wrong Envy? I thought begging humans for mercy was beneath you?" Growled the man.

Cyrus shook his head, still clinging to his raw legs. "I don't know what you're talking about, I swear I don't." he breathed.

The man pursed his lips. "Pull the car around." He said back to his men. Cyrus watched as one of the soldiers advanced on him. He was on the taller and slim side and had short dirty blond hair. The slim man wasted no time cuffing Cyrus' hands behind his back. He yanked him up onto his almost healed feet. Cyrus glanced back at Boamos' violin case left on the ally floor. The shortest dark-haired soldier retrieved it.

What was going to happen to him? Were they taking him out of the public to kill him? Was he going to be broiled until his stone burned away?

Cyrus took a shallow breath as the reality of this scenario began to dawn to him. He could run. He could break the cuffs digging into his wrists and escape if it wasn't for the fire alchemist. The man watched him with contempt. His fingers poised to snap and engulf him again if he considered running. He couldn't take the pain and he knew it. The sting of his legs standing as a reminder that it could get much, _much_ worse.

As a result, Cyrus walked with the soldiers as they drug him to a truck that pulled up in front of the ally. Cyrus tripped when they shoved him into the back of the metal automobile. The Black-eyed man and the blond woman got into the back with him, most likely assuming he would try and escape. He had been actively planning that very thing. The metal doors seemed thin enough, so it wouldn't have been hard for him rip them apart and jump out. But now Cyrus sat frozen and shrinking under the gaze of the dark eyed man.

Cyrus' gaze had finally found the floor, unable to take the judgmental stairs from his soon to be killer. His face fell yet again as he observed the damage he took. The pain was gone and his legs completely healed. But Shelta's grandfathers pants were charred up to his knees. On top of his fear, he now felt guilty. Shelta had been very protective of her grandfather's things. The fact she gave Cyrus both the man's name and clothes meant a lot. He had never appreciated this until he saw the burnt remains of the article of clothing.

Cyrus swallowed as the car screeched to a halt and the doors yanked open. He shuttered as the man grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him out. They had arrived within the walls of a military base. Not just any military base either. It was the massive fortress in the middle of the city. Cyrus wasn't given the time to gawk at the vast court yard and towering white buildings. They pulled him along the paved walkway and into one of the structures.

They marched down a multitude of hallways before arriving in a small, white, windowless room. It had a single metal table bolted to the floor in the middle of the room and two chairs on either side of it. The only things adorning the plain white walls were a large mirror and a phone.

The soldiers wasted no time shoving Cyrus into a chair at the table. His hands and feet were chained to the table and floor, as if they expected him to transform into some sort of monster. The chains gave a soft rattling sound from Cyrus' trembling hands.

He was still alive...for the time being, and by the looks of things they were going to question him as opposed to kill him. For the first time since he locked eyes with the fire alchemist, Cyrus felt a twinge of hope. 'I can talk my way out of this.' If he could convince these people he had done nothing wrong…He ran because he was scared and thought they were going to kill him. That argument would be a lot easier to make if he could remember why the man wanted him dead in his first life.

Cyrus watched the slim soldier sit in the opposite chair from him. He shed his military jacket to get more comfortable. The smoldering black-eyed man and the blond woman stood behind him. The other two had left the room but Cyrus was sure they were listening. The two standing were like statues, the man locked in place by his rage and the woman stoic by his side. The slim man lit a cigarette and puffed it a few times. He exhaled, before his light eyes found Cyrus.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked, which Cyrus replied with a simple shake of his head. The man wrinkled his nose but then pointed towards the two behind him. "Well do you know them?"

"No." Cyrus breathed. Though he had seen the two in his visions more times than he had seen his own reflection, it wasn't actually a lie. He didn't know them. For his whole life so far he had questioned if they were even real, until now.

"Alright, well, this is General Roy Mustang." The smoking man introduced, pointing to the Black-eyed man. A bell went off in Cyrus' mind as the familiar name made sense to him. General Mustang, aka the Flame Alchemist…it all was like some cruel joke. "And this is Captain Riza Hawkeye. You can call me Havoc. I'll be asking you a few questions. We'll start with an easy one. What's your name?"

Cyrus made a face. He had already given his name before they chased him down, so they didn't believe him. Never the less he answered. "I'm Cyrus." He answered.

"Nice to meet you Cyrus." Havoc said with a smile, which faded just as fast. "You see Cyrus; the problem is you happen to look exactly like a dangerous felon on record. He was a homunculus like you, but the thing is, we thought he was dead."

"If he's dead then why am I here?" Cyrus questioned.

"Well, you are a Homunculus and so was he. Your kind are hard to kill. It's not a stretch you aren't the same person." Havoc explained.

"But I'm not!" Cyrus insisted. He shrank back when his outburst made the Flame Alchemist, Mustang raise his hand to snap. It was strange, finally having a name to match the man in his nightmares. The gloved hand returned to his side once Cyrus fell silent.

Havoc continued to puff his cigarette until it was gone, lighting another in its place. "Fair enough, maybe you're not. How about we see." Havoc presented a file from a locked case. He skimmed through the pages before plopping the file open in front of Cyrus. "Is that you?" he asked, referring to a picture that Cyrus locked onto immediately. Staring back at him was a picture, which mine as well have been his reflection. Thin but muscular form, pale skin and a softer featured face crowned by waist long black hair. The eyes were the same purple. Even his original black clothes hidden under his human clothes, were an exact match. What was going on?

"It…looks like me." Cyrus admitted.

"Is it you?" Havoc asked. Cyrus almost said no, but he remembered his missing memories. He was older than two, and other then the memory of Mustang, and the occasional glimpse of his Cretan mother, there was nothing else. Was it possible this person was him from his first life? This was disconcerting, since they had said he was a dangerous felon. Was that why he was being chased in those tunnels? Had he committed some sort of crime?

"Who was he?" Cyrus settled on saying, which wasn't an answer to the original question but was somewhat safe.

"A felon," Havoc repeated, seeming irritated Cyrus had dodged his question. "His name was Envy. He was a homunculus who had committed crimes to many to count." He explained finally. "He was caught, and then executed by the General here." He said, pointing over his shoulder to the scornful man behind him. The stone pulsed fast in Cyrus' chest as he felt his stomach drop.

"How was he executed?" Cyrus whispered.

"By fire." Mustang answered. It had been the first time he spoke since they entered the building, and Cyrus felt the room ice over. 'Oh no…' he thought. Was it him? So far the similarities were too great to be a coincidence.

"I-if he's dead then how could it be me?" Cyrus countered. So far it was his only defense. Havoc nodded as if in agreement with him. It would have been convincing evidence, if he didn't have the memory of the Cretan woman and her white stones. He remembered back, to the first time he dreamt of that place, falling into darkness. He didn't know who he was but he was sure he was dead. Then the girl came and brought him back with one of her three stones.

The other two stones resided in Lorelei and Bounty. His siblings were oblivious to their past as well. With this in mind, it was possible for him to have been this other homunculus killed by Mustang and then revived. None of this he would be sharing with the three in front of him.

"Very true. So then how about this? Tell me everything about your life." Havoc offered instead. "Let's start at the beginning. Who was the alchemist who created you?" Cyrus swallowed. He couldn't give up his mother's identity, and he was sure 'I don't know' wouldn't be an acceptable answer. Should he lie? These people seemed to know more about him then he did. He imagined the punishment would be intense if they caught him in a lie.

"I've never met them…I was abandoned in the woods." Cyrus settled on. It wasn't untrue, and it wouldn't trace back to either his family or the Cretan girl.

"What happened next?" Havoc pushed. Cyrus had to suppress his growing fear. He couldn't mention the gypsies or Trovius. What would happen to them if he was found guilty of whatever they were accusing him of? He shuttered at the thought. He decided to be vague and embellish on things that would be impossible for them to look into. "I was found in the woods by a few travelers outside of Dublith about two years ago. I…heard the name Cyrus from one of them and liked it. I knew I wasn't human, so I met an alchemist on the road and they told me I was a homunculus."

"Who was this alchemist?" Havoc interrupted.

"I don't remember their name." he said. Havoc gave him a raised eyebrow. "It's been two years." He added in his defense when the three were not convinced.

"Fair enough. Continue." Havoc said, leaning back in his chair.

"After that, I traveled with a few people I met. Though I, came here alone…I wanted to see Central and it wasn't where they were going." Now he was lying. He wasn't sure what else he could add to put more distance between him and the gypsies.

"Hm, and was Boamos one of these people you 'traveled' with?" Havoc asked. Cyrus stared at him in shock before he remembered they had his violin case. In that case was Boamos' hand written note to him, which he had signed. A chill went up his spine as he was terrified of the possibility that they could use this to find his family.

"Yes… he-" Cyrus choked on a sob, swallowing hard trying to get it together. "He was a good friend of mine. That violin, it had been his. He gave it to me and-" Cyrus gritted his teeth as his eyes began to water. 'Not now.' Not when his life was on the line he couldn't break down.

"You ok?" Havoc asked, not sounding concerned.

"He died." He finally breathed, realizing it had been the first time he admitted it to himself out loud. The tears finally spilled over his lashes, his stair focused on his bound hands. Even still he continued. "He died about a month ago. That's when I went off by myself. I don't know where the others are."

"Sorry about your friend, but you do realize without someone else we can ask to back up your story we can't go with it right?" Havoc stated curtly. "How about you tell us where you buried your friend and that can support your story." He offered.

Cyrus felt sick. He would rather die than tell these people about the Gypsies. He would be damned if they defiled Boamos' grave. "Somewhere on the road in the East. We had no money for a tomb stone." He finally answered.

"That doesn't help us." Havoc said.

"I'm sorry but that's all I can offer." Cyrus said. There was a long pause before Havoc sighed, heaving himself off the chair.

"Alright. You sit tight and we'll be back." He explained as the three exited the room, leaving Cyrus to contemplate his fate.

* * *

"Well he's lying." Hawkeye said from behind the glass in the opposite room. They were looking at their homunculus prisoner fidget in his seat from behind the false mirror.

"Definitely, but I don't think about everything." Havoc said from the chair against the wall. Mustang glanced away from their prisoner and focused on Havoc, along with Riza, Breda, and Furey. "When I asked him if he knew you guys, I didn't see deception I saw doubt. He seemed confused when he saw the file of Envy. Only when I asked him about being with other people did he begin to lie."

"He's protecting someone then." Hawkeye observed. "There's someone most likely in the city that's with him but he doesn't want us to know."

"How is he even still alive?" Mustang mumbled to himself, starring at the creature through the glass. "I burned away every life he had, and then I saw him kill himself."

"Well you both didn't do a good enough job I guess." Havoc added, earning a glare from his superior.

"Sir, what if this is a similar case to Selim's?" Riza asked. That had the room's attention. "Is there a chance he has no recollection of his past life as Envy like Selim has no recollection of being Pride?"

"How did he live to loss his memories in the first place?" Mustang wondered. His tone was bitter. Riza gave a shrug, not having an answer to that question. Mustang stiffened as he saw Envy fiddle with his chains, then glancing back at the door. Mustang assumed the only reason he didn't rip himself free was he knew he was being watched. "If he's lost his memories then we can try to spark something." He mused, marching out of the room with his men in tow.

"Um, is that such a good idea sir?" Furey asked.

"It's the only way we can know for sure. If nothing works then he'll be moved into military protection and observation like Selim. If not-" he didn't finish his thought.

* * *

Cyrus jumped when Mustang shoved the door open. "Do you recognize this man?" Mustang hissed, tossing a file down onto the table next to Envy's file. Cyrus pulled his eyes away from the intimidating man too instead look at the picture. There were two drawn representations of two people. An older man with a hard, wrinkled face and cold eyes. He had shoulder length blond hair and pale skin. His face was intimidating, but Cyrus didn't recognize the elderly man. Next to him was a much younger man in his twenties. Cyrus wondered if they were the same person but during different points in their life.

"N-no I don't know them." Cyrus finally said.

"What about the name 'Father?' Ring any bells?" Mustang added. 'Father?' Cyrus thought. What a weird thing to have as a name. Then again Envy was also a strange name; they had to be code for something. He shook his head. Mustang growled in frustration but luckily Havoc came to Cyrus' rescue.

"You see Cyrus. We have a theory. We suspect you may have amnesia, hence why you don't remember any of this."

Cyrus shook his head, frustration welling up. "I don't know, I really-"

"Does the name Maes Hughes mean anything to you?" Mustang asked. Cyrus sensed a dramatic change in tone as the other soldiers stiffened. Glancing up at the General Cyrus felt himself shrinking under his glare. In fact, it matched the look he gave him before he unleashed his onslaught of fire in those tunnels. Through that stair he could feel the heat on his skin and hear his screams echoing off those brick walls.

"N-no." Cyrus whispered, snapping back to reality.

Mustang frowned before he reached into his coat, making Cyrus flinch. He yanked out his wallet and pulled out a small picture, slamming it down on the table in front of Cyrus. He looked down. General Mustang was to the left of the photo looking a few years younger. Standing next to him was a man also in military garb. He was about the same size as the general, but he had lighter hair brushed back. He had an angular jaw and stubble of a beard. The man wore square glasses and a wide smile, an arm around the General's shoulder in a playful manner.

He tried hard, but Cyrus could not for the life of him recall the cheerful man. He glanced back up at the scowling General, shaking his head. He winced again as this brought about a new wave of anger from Mustang. "Nothing at all!? You better try harder or-"

"Permission to try something Sir?" Hawkeye interrupted in a monotone voice. Mustang raised an eye brow before taking a step away from Cyrus, giving a nod of approval. The stoic woman approached the table for the first time, and to Cyrus' surprise she unshackled him. No longer confined, Havoc's gun and Mustang's gloved hand pointed at him, a reminder not to try and run.

She ordered him to stand by the wall with the phone. He happened to notice she grabbed one of the photos on the table before walking over to the corner with him. "I'm going to try something, and all I need you to do is follow a simple command. Can you do that?" she asked him.

Cyrus nodded once, watching as the woman pulled her own gun from its holster. She pulled the cartage out, emptied the bullets then clicked it back together within seconds. He was surprised when she then offered the gun to him. Mustang flinched, approaching to stop the experiment until Hawkeye shot him a look. "I'm going to say a few words into the receiver; after I pause you will point the gun at my head and pull back the hammer. I will count to three and turn, and then you will pull the trigger." She explained, placing the gun in his hand. Cyrus looked at the weapon, his teeth clenched. "It's not loaded." She added when she noticed his hesitation. He also noticed how the general was not reacting well to the experiment. He was shaking with rage in the corner. All this meant something to these people.

Riza picked up the phone and place it to her ear. Then she began to speak. "I need you to connect me to colonel Mustang right away." She said in a deep, urgent tone. She became angry. "You are speaking to lieutenant colonel Hughes. This is a matter of life and death!"

'Hughes?' He thought, as in the same Hughes they were questioning him about? Cyrus wondered what this had to do with the man in the picture. "What, are you trying to waste time? It's UNCLE, SUGAR, OLIVER, then 8, 0, 0. Will you hurry! It's an emergency!" then she paused. Cyrus swallowed before pointing the gun towards the back of her head, clicking it in place to fire. He wondered what this would accomplish, but he went along with it anyway. He'd do anything if it meant going home. Though he did find it strange as she began counting down from three. After following that script from before then counting down. It was like they were missing the rest of it… He didn't have time to think about it as she spun around. She held up the picture of the general and the man named Hughes in front of her face as he pulled the trigger.

Cyrus exhaled, staring at the smiling man from behind the gun. The image spun with the room. Then the room and the soldiers were gone. He was far away in a different time.

 _It was nighttime over Central, under a single street lamp in the park. He held the gun to the military man's head. The bearded man looked back at him in horror._

 _"_ _You look surprised." He snickered, amused by the man's face._

 _"W-what the hell are you?" Hughes gasped, staring back in terror. Still smiling, he pulled the trigger. Hughes stumbled back in the phone booth then slid to the ground, bleeding out his life. Reaching out over the man's body he took the phone hanging from its cord and hung it up. He stepped back, looking down to admire his work._

 _"_ _You humans don't make any sense to me. You throw away your lives for nothing." He sighed, stepping back onto the path and leaving the man to die._

Cyrus gasped as the gun clanked to the floor. He backed away from Hawkeye holding the picture. He tripped in his hast and fell to the ground next to the weapon. He glanced around the room, looking at the many faces glaring at him. There were more than the three soldiers, and the room spun. He realized the other people weren't in the room but were from another times, other moments in another life. It was too much. He wanted it to stop. He knew it all, as if they were dreams…not dreams, memories of a different time. Gripping his head, he heard his own voice somewhere in the sea of faces and memories.

 _"_ _Fool, you just have to forsake one village to save an entire country."_

 _"_ _To bad you don't have the stomach to do the logical thing."_

 _"_ _Can you really shoot such a sad face? Can you boy?"_

 _"_ _I shouldn't be surprised! That's just how all you humans are."_

 _"_ _This time around I'll go with a younger cuter model, what do you say?"_

 _"_ _You humans don't make any sense to me…you throw away your lives for nothing."_

 _"_ _Another foolish human."_

It all stopped.

He was standing in a dark room, looking up at a man sitting in a stone chair connected by tubs and wires. His eyes were cold and his skin wrinkled, curtained by a head of blond and gray hair. He had a hand resting under his jaw, seeming almost board as he looked over his finished work before him. "You will be my middle child, hiding among the humans with the powers I, your father, have bestowed upon you. Born from my jealousy, you are to be loyal to me until the Promised Day is upon us. Do you understand, Envy?" the man waited for a reply.

He felt his own lips pull up into a smile. _"I do, Father."_


	26. Chapter 26

Hello everyone. I am actually on time. Hooray. However, I would like to give a fair warning that these next few chapters, starting with this one will be rather unpleasant. If anyone is turned off by torture, please be warned.

* * *

 _"_ _Which insect to choose?" Envy muttered wistfully. He was leaning in the shadows of an alleyway. He scanned his potential victims in the bustling Ishvalan town. Envy hadn't shifted into his chosen military personal yet. A simple brown robe and shawl made him almost invisible to more observant eyes._

 _Movement caught Envy's eye. A group of children weaved between the crowed. A six year old trailed behind the older kids, an innocent, crooked smile present on their face. "Perfect." Envy said. He licked his lips to suppress a grin._

 _"_ _My, you are indecisive. Just pick one." Lust's voice sighed. He turned to see her walking down the cracked alleyway. Her black costume was concealed with a plain Ishvalan robe._

 _"_ _This is an art form Lust. I like to make each kill count." Envy said in his defense._

 _Lust came to rest against the same wall as him, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "That is how you get yourself into trouble."_

 _Envy scowled at her. She was threatening his good mood. "Why are you here?" he growled._

 _"_ _Back up. In case you get swarmed after you eventually pick a human to shoot." Lust said._

 _"_ _I don't need back up. Did Father send you?" Envy snorted._

 _"_ _Pride did." She answered. Envy saw she was fighting off a laugh._

 _The sound of his older brother's name made Envy's face sour. "Bastard."_

 _"_ _Carful. He may hear you." She reminded him with a smile._

 _Envy had a lot more to say about the nine hundred year old homunculus. But Lust was only half joking, so he held his tongue. He loaded the military handgun, deciding to ignore his sister's teasing. At least she would be decent company driving back to Central._

 _"_ _What is your next assignment?" He asked, only half interested. He glanced the picture with the military man he would shift into._

 _"_ _Creta, of all places." She said._

 _Envy gave her a glance and a raised eyebrow. "The Blood Crest in already carved on the Cretan boarder. What else is there to do there?"_

 _"_ _Investigation. The Cretan military attacked a smaller tribe."_

 _"_ _And…why do we care?" Envy asked._

 _"When they took over the area there are rumors they found a Philosopher's Stone of some kind. The Stone was the core of a Homunculus."_

 _At first Envy was shocked, but then common sense replaced it. "Father is the only one who can make our kind. More likely it was a chimera and some half-assed Stone."_

 _"_ _A human made Father." Lust pointed out._

 _"_ _Dumb luck." Envy snorted._

 _"_ _True. With Creta there may not be much to find. We only now got the information. The attack happened years ago, but I agreed to go anyway. It's always nice to have a vacation."_

 _Envy snickered, pocketing the military picture. Red light engulfed him, and the brown robes became a pressed Amestrian uniform. "Please. There will be plenty of down time after the Promised Day." He said, cocking his gun and marching into the square with a smirk._

* * *

Pain ripped Cyrus from the vision. His left shoulder felt like fire, tearing through the rest of his body. Where was he? Ishval, Central?

"Keep him still."

It was Roy Mustang's voice. That was enough to bring Cyrus out of the encroaching blackness. Through the pain he felt hands holding him to the ground. He strained his neck to see what they were doing to him. A pen sized rod was shoved into the node in his shoulder. Cyrus blacked out again, and then came to screaming. They were sealing his power, cutting him off from his Stone.

Cyrus gasped through the pain, struggling against the human hands. Light danced in front of his eyes. His left side was useless but he still had his right. He ripped his right hand free of the chains they fastened to him. The sound of a clap and the light of a transmutation lit the room. The metal of the floor wrapped itself around his right arm, pulling him back down. It had been the General behind the transmutation.

He felt the second node on his shoulder punctured. He didn't black out this time. This only made the pain more prominent as it ripped through his body. His right side went limp. He continued to struggle, whimpering in pain as the third rod was shoved into the node on his mid spine. Screaming through gritted teeth, Cyrus felt the energy in his body draining. The stone in his chest struggled to pulse at a normal rate. Erratic shock-waves of pain pulsed through him.

The hands left him, and he attempted to flee. His blood felt like jelly pumping through his veins. He couldn't hold his head up let alone escape. A push from a single human halted his escape attempt. "Transport him to laboratory 3." Mustang ordered to the multitude of soldiers before marching out with his men. Even in a fog of pain, Cyrus noticed Hawkeye behind Mustang glance back at him. In her blank, unfeeling face, he almost saw regret, but she filed out with her superior.

From there Cyrus felt himself being cuffed again. This time the restraints felt heavy, and he knew he couldn't break the chains now. They tried to get him to stand, but he crumpled to his knees the moment he stood under his own power. The impact rattled through his bones, making the ever present pain in his back more obvious. He was pulled up again and chained into a wheel chair.

Cyrus tried to focus through the pain enough to recognize where in the building he was being taken. It was a losing battle. He couldn't remain conscious longer than a few minutes at a time. He had to escape…

* * *

 _Darkness again, a lake of blood at his feet._

 _"_ _Gluttony swallowed us. There is no exit. No way to leave. All that's left for us is to run out of strength and wait for our lives to end."_

* * *

He startled. He was in a bright white room glowing with artificial light. It had no windows. No points of escape. A metal exam table sat in the center, surrounded by small tables and drawers. The reek of metal and antiseptic assaulted his nose.

They pulled him out of the wheel chair and placed him onto the table. A few people in white coats took the blue uniformed soldier's place. His human clothes were pulled off. He tried to fight, but his blocked energy made his fight pitiful. He was laid down on his back in his black under clothes. He tried to lift his torso to relive the pressure from his back. They shoved him back down. He was secured to the table, his arms outstretched on either side.

The pain pulsed on those three points, a desperate cry escaping him as it continued to intensify. Cyrus tried to focus on something else, anything else. He tried to find a point in the sterile room to distract him. The faces of the seven white coated humans, the panels of the ceiling and everything in-between.

What were they going to do to him? He had to get away before he found out. Cyrus fought hard to stay conscious, knowing each black out would bring about a new flash back. He had to focus. He had to get to him family…

'My family!' They would come looking for him if he didn't return to camp. The military would connect them to him. Trovius and Rodger would pay for their caring for him. They could be considered traitors for harboring him. Cyrus was certain the punishment for treason was death. He couldn't let these people find his family. He had to warn them all somehow, but how could he do that stripped of his powers and strength and strapped to a table?

His train of thought was interrupted when he noticed a few of the doctors wielding scissors. They cut away his black underclothes, making him flinch from the contact of the metal on his bare skin. He heard the sizzle of his black clothes disintegrating. He tried to summon them back, but his blocked power didn't allow it. It left him exposed and naked. His face reddened from the strangers studying his bare body. He shuttered when he felt their hands poking and prodding him against his will.

Lights flashed in his eyes for longer than comfortable periods of time. Depressors stuck down his throat until he gagged. Needles shoved under his skin, trying to retrieve blood that vanished soon after its extraction. The red regeneration struggled to mend the wounds with so little power to go on.

He wasn't used to feeling pain for so long. He would give anything to make it end... 'Focus!' He thought to himself. He forced his attention away from the humans over him inflicting his pain. If he died then he died, but he had to think of a way to keep the military from finding his family.

He stopped fighting against the memories of Envy. His pulse pounded in his ears, the memories bleeding together. He sifted through them, looking for something that the military would want. This Envy had to have something that the military didn't know yet. He could use it to buy time.

* * *

 _"_ _Do we need a backup plan?" Envy asked. He gave Wrath an irritated glance when he failed to answer right away._

 _"_ _I was born in military combat and strategy. One must always have a backup plan in war." Wrath said. He twirled his dark mustache and watched the scientists work from the balcony they stood on. Below they had a line of Ishvalans, criminals, and captured immigrants waiting to be used for Philosopher's Stones._

 _"_ _It's such a waste of good ingredients." Envy sighed. He still couldn't believe Father allowed Wrath to have so many Stone's made but not use them. They weren't going to be for Father's constant supply sustaining him. They would be stored in a warehouse somewhere. "Wasted." Envy said again._

 _"_ _If the Promised Day does not go as planned, we will have a reserve." Wrath corrected him. "You'll thank me if you ever need it."_

* * *

Cyrus shook his head, feeling sick, guilt threatening to make him gag. Disgusting, but it was something. He had to stall these people so Trovius or Shelta could sense something was wrong and leave. But the caravan wouldn't leave for another three months. There was no reason for them to pack up and go, especially without him.

"Please." Cyrus said. Even the act of talking left him winded. "I need to talk to General Mustang." He whispered to the closet scientist. Never in his life did Cyrus think he would be asking to see Mustang, but to save his family he had to start somewhere. The man he spoke to didn't react to his comment, continuing to review whatever he was reading on his clip board. Cyrus tried again with a woman, but she had a similar response. They acted as if he couldn't talk at all. He was a lab rat on the table, occasionally squealing in protest. He wondered if these people knew who he was before, or if they were following orders. Either way they weren't going to help him. He had to think of something else. If only he had his strength…he could break free and get to a phone.

He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned through his teeth as he felt something sharp pressing into his side. He didn't want to know what they were doing. 'Focus.' He growled again. He had to think of something. He had to save his family. He'd never be able to forgive himself for the part he played in his previous life as Envy, which almost killed them. But he could try to save them in this life as Cyrus.

"The experimentation is complete. Bring the array to collapse the Stone." Cyrus heard. His insides twisted. They were going to kill him. He tried to calm down. If he was dead they had no reason to look for his family. The guilt from each new flashback was crushing his mind. 'It's better this way.' He convinced himself. He only wished he could have said goodbye to his family. At least they wouldn't have to know the monster he really was.

A syringe containing a clear substance jabbed into his arm, making him wince. He watched the human push down the plunger, injecting god knows what into him. A paper with an array was placed over his chest.

Cyrus closed his eyes and imaged himself somewhere else. His mind wondered to Rodger's music room in his house. He sat at the piano seat next to Boamos, watching in amazement as the man's hands flew across the keys. Cyrus chimed in with his own violin, the duet improved by Boamos' skill.

The vision faltered when Cyrus felt something sharp on his upper chest. Right over where his stone rested. He didn't open his eyes, instead forcing his mind back into that music room with Boamos. They went into that room to get away from Trovius and Rodger science rant in the kitchen. There was only so much they could both take of the alchemic talk after all.

He could see the blue light through his closed eye lids. Alchemy sparked from the array. It faded. Cyrus opened his eyes, still seeing the human, all very confused. He was as well. They couldn't kill him.

"We will have to try a manual extraction." Someone said.

Before Cyrus could question this he yelped in pain. The sharp sensation became searing hot, running down his chest a few inches, and then stopping. He locked his jaw, refusing to cry out again. Begging wouldn't help. He heard the uneven regeneration of his body trying to mend whatever damage they were doing.

The raw heat increased and Cyrus broke into a cold sweat. 'Ignore it, breath.' He reminded. The restraint around his neck was making even that difficult. His resolve was deteriorating as his body shuttered with pain. His teeth gritted so tight he thought they might crack. 'Breath through the-'

"Ah!" Cyrus yelled out, feeling as if his skin and chest was being yanked apart. "Please stop!" he moaned through gritted teeth, unable to hold back his cries anymore. He had reached the limit of his threshold for pain. His eyes opened to look up at the many humans hovering over him. The room spun and the people surrounding him swayed. Pin pricks of light hovered in front of his vision, and Cyrus found himself begging. His resolve long forgotten, he just wanted it to stop. "Please…nhha! No more, please…" he panted, his breathing shallow.

He tried to force his mind back into that music room in Rodger house. Cyrus couldn't quite summon the image without it blotting with painful light. There was no escaping the agony. He was praying his body would give it a rest with the regeneration and let him pass out. He felt the searing blade halt its explorations, giving him a false hope they had stopped.

Cyrus' eyes fluttered open to see what was going on. He saw the bearded scientist talking to another across from him. Cyrus' ears were ringing so loud he couldn't make out what they said. The man spoke again, and Cyrus could have sworn he had ordered someone to cover his mouth. He realized he was right when the other woman in the group placed a small towel over his mouth. Her other hand covered his eyes. Now he was completely blind. It invited the darkness back into his mind, his imagination running wild.

Crack.

Despite the ringing in his ears, Cyrus heard that. He screamed into the towel. Agony, spreading from his chest through his bones and limbs.

He writhed in his restraints, crying out despite the pain it caused to move his chest to breath. A few more cracks. Cyrus knew the source of the sound was his ribs. They were breaking him apart to reach the stone. Hot tears trekked down his face. He whimpered, unable to get enough air into his lungs as it only caused him more pain to scream. His pleas went ignored.

Cyrus had begun counting in his mind. A relaxation method he learned from Shelta in the past to deal with his fear of fire. He had later mixed it with counting in time with music. He focused in on a memory of Boamos demonstrating this technique when he first taught him violin.

His throat tightened. A sob passed his lips as the image of Boamos playing his crimson violin was all he could think of. He wanted Boamos to be with him so badly it almost hurt more than the fire in his chest. He wanted to be on the outskirts of the caravan with Boamos and Florica. Laughing about nothing in particular.

Despite the pain it caused him he cried. Cried for his lost friend and the violin he cherished, which Cyrus wasn't even able to hold onto. What had happened to that violin? Had it been destroyed, along with Shelta's grandfather's clothes? Perhaps the military set it all on fire. The idea made him sick, knowing one of the few things left of two great men were most likely up in flames.

"What the hell?" He heard one of the humans say over him, which snapped him back into the very painful reality. "The Stone…it's not red…it's white."

'…What?' Cyrus thought weakly.

"Try manually." the man said out loud. Cyrus then heard the familiar sound of a transmutation. He was still alive after it faded, so he assumed their attempts failed.

The woman removed both her hands and the towel from his face. Cyrus winced from the bright light overhead. He noticed her tanned face staring at his chest with a sort of confused wonder. Cyrus tried not to move much. Every breath he took caused a fresh wave of hurt. "We can't proceed with the stones extraction." The bearded man mumbled. "Go get the General."

* * *

Roy Mustang sat in his office with his team. They looked over the items that they had confiscated from their homunculus prisoner. On the table sat a beat up violin case, which contained a crimson violin and some handwritten sheet music. They had found the note signed from 'Boamos, to Cyrus' in-between the pages of music. A hand drawn picture of a honey haired girl who looked Cretan in nationality. And a picture of a strange transmutation circle Roy didn't recognize. They currently were the only clues about whom Envy had been traveling with.

Along with the violin were his human clothes. An old but patched brown trench coat, a gray buttoned up shirt and the remaining upper half of the black pants. In the pockets of the coat they found two cenz and a pocket watch. The fact Envy had human clothes at all was strange. The shape shifting homunculus was capable of bringing any clothes into being.

Hawkeye stood by the door with her shoulders slumped.

Mustang took note of her body language. "Are you alright Captain?" he wondered.

"Fine, sir." She stated with a flat tone.

"Sir, can I ask a question?" Fury mumbled, sounding rather unsure of himself.

"Shoot." Mustang sighed.

"Why did we bring Envy's memories back? Couldn't we have placed him into military observation like we did for Sel-I mean Pride?" he wondered.

"There are two very distinct differences between Pride and Envy's cases." Mustang began. "Pride's Philosopher's Stone was drained. He has been rendered harmless and without access to his abilities. Also, what the boy hears, sees, and learns is all carefully filtered and controlled by higher command. There is no chance of something familiar sparking his memories. Even if something did, like I said before, he's powerless. This is not the case for Envy, who has complete access to his powers, or rather he did. Also, we have no idea what he has seen in these two years to pull those memories back up. I'm sure they would have come to the surface sooner or later. If it hadn't been us that extracted them then he would have gained them around innocent civilians. Now that he has them back, it's too dangerous to keep him alive."

"But if Selim got his memories back-" Fury began to protest.

"I'm sure higher command would make the same call." Mustang growled.

"But he's a four year old boy." Fury added.

"In a way our prisoner is as well." Hawkeye added. The General turned to see she was staring at the wall. On the surface she seemed stoic and indifferent but Mustang knew her well. He could see regret and guilt in those focused eyes of hers. Mustang scanned the room. Berda was ruffling his shaggy crew cut and Havoc was fiddling with his cigarette butt. Both were looking down at their shoes.

"Correction," Mustang hissed, now getting angry at the sudden change in the conversation. "That 'boy' known as Pride is really a nine hundred year old monster. Envy is the same. Have you completely forgotten these creatures tried to murder fifty _million_ people. That doesn't count the thousands they had killed over the course of history. Why are we feeling sorry for them now?" he demanded.

"I was held hostage by Pride in those final days if you would recall sir." Riza stated, her voice gaining an edge to it. "When they assigned me to the Fuhrer's guard to keeping you under control, Pride was stalking my every move. I could feel its eyes on me when I slept and I would always feel a deep dread in every part of my being.

Today at the parade, I felt none of that when I looked at that boy. I don't think that monster is there anymore in Selim. I saw a boy excited to see a parade with his mother." Mustang was about to interrupt but she continued. "I fought Envy in those tunnels like you sir. Like Selim, I didn't see blood lust today. I saw a scared teenager who had no idea what he had done wrong. That's why I tried to extract the memories myself. Like you said, Selim may be killed one day for what he is, and I was trying to justify that. If extracting those memories brought out Envy then I would know both Homunculi would need to die. But I didn't see that. Even with the memories, that boy wasn't Envy, like Selim isn't Pride." Mustang and Hawkeye stood, glaring at each other, not saying a word.

The General spoke. "What should we do then, let him go? If he has those memories and his power then he's dangerous." He pointed out.

"I know…but should he die? Can't we-" Hawkeye was interrupted by a knock at the door. One of the doctors from laboratory 3 entered. She looked flustered from a hurried jaunt from the distant building. The Captain's sentence died on her tongue. The arrival of the doctor meant it was too late to save the boy anyway.

"Sir, we've hit a problem." the woman admitted.

Mustang looked to her. Her face was confounded and anxious. He saw she was scared to explain further. "What kind of problem?"


	27. Chapter 27

Mustang stormed out of his office along with the doctor, marching back to laboratory 3. "Why couldn't you extract the Stone?" he demanded from the woman.

"It's…like no stone we have ever seen Sir. All normal methods of deconstruction had no effect." She explained, struggling to keep up with his pace.

So distracted by his own anger, Mustang didn't notice a second soldier rush up to him from behind until they spoke. "Hello Sir, sorry to-are you alright?" the voice of a woman asked.

Mustang gave the shorter woman a glance. "Yes I'm fine. What can I do for you First Lieutenant Ross?" he asked, trying to sound neutral as always.

He saw Ross' expression turn. She didn't seem to be buying the act. "…I've been sent by the Lieutenant Coronel to request your presence at the after party for the parade." She explained.

Mustang let out a frustrated sigh. "I didn't have time for that. I also already told him that." he hissed.

"What's going on?" Ross asked him. Normally, a Lieutenant would never think about questioning a General in such a casual way. But the two had become close friends. Mustang almost found it ironic that he ran into this particular First Lieutenant on the way to see Envy.

"I'm headed to check on a top secret project, which isn't going well. That's why I can't go to the after party, so sorry to disappoint the Lieutenant Coronel."

Ross was snickering. "Sorry to say, but he ordered me to stand by you until you change your mind." She added with a hint of a mocking smile. Mustang was about to insist she leave but then thought better of it. She was going to be among the people he would be bringing in on the Cretan case. He figured she could know about Envy's case as well. Plus, she was almost murdered by the monster. This could be a form of justice for her to see the thing suffer.

"Well in that case, tag along. But, I'll warn you in advance. This project is of the highest secrecy, and will also be unpleasant."

"Please Sir. I think I've seen it all." Ross insisted with a shrug.

* * *

Cyrus had his eyes fixed on the door, trying to imagen himself anywhere else in the world. His stone pulsed hard in his chest. It was trying to heal the gaping wound with what little connection it still had to him. Uneven sparks of red fought against the tools that held open the wound. After at least the fiftieth time Cyrus wished he was able to turn off the regeneration. It wasn't making any progress and it was not worth the pain.

The scientists had stepped away from him to do other things. This left him shuttering and whimpering on the table. Through his painful haze Cyrus saw the door to the room open. Two blue blurs were approaching. Soldiers. His blood ran cold. One of them was the General. Cyrus had no clothes, his chest ripped open exposing his life source, and chained to the table. He felt far too vulnerable to face the General in the state he was in.

To terrified to catch Mustang's gaze his eyes shifted to the other soldier. They were a woman, who was standing in the door way with look of horror on her pale face. She seemed familiar to him, and needing a distraction, he studied her. She stood much shorter than the General. She had short black hair that was brushed back from her face. The most prominent feature the soldier had was a small black mole under her left eye.

"S-sir what's going on?" the woman stuttered, never breaking eye contact with Cyrus. Mustang didn't answer her, instead advancing on Cyrus and coming to a stop at the exam table. His dark eyes focused on the stone in the homunculi's chest, and he inhaled sharply. There, connected to the moaning creature was a white Philosopher's Stone. Roy's mind jumped to the message sent to him from Lyda. This was connected to the Cretan conspiracy. This was one of the "treasures" Lyda spoke of. How the hell did Envy get his hands on it?!

"Where did you get this Stone?" Mustang hissed, turning to gaze into the homunculi's pained face. "Who gave you this Stone?" he tried again.

Cyrus stared at him with bewilderment, not registering what he was being asked. What did he mean where did he get the stone? It had always been his.

The General scowled at his silence. He slammed one of his hands down onto Cyrus' bare shoulder. The nod on Cyrus back sparked and what little color he had left in his face drained. Cyrus let out a desperate shriek of pain. "Well?! How did you get this Stone?" he growled, still forcing his hand down onto Cyrus' shoulder.

"Ahh! I-I don't know, I…p-please stop!" Cyrus cried, tears pooling in his wide eyes.

"'I don't know' is not an acceptable answer, homunculus." Mustang hissed, bearing down his body weight as hard as he could. Cyrus ran out of air screaming, instead gasping as he stared pleading at the man.

"Sir!" piped the Lieutenant in the door way. "Give him a chance to talk." She pleaded. Mustang pulled his hand from his shoulder. Cyrus gasped in relief. He looked to the stranger in the doorway, beyond grateful.

"You have a minute." Mustang growled to him, stepping back and crossing his arms.

"I…it's always been a part of me, ever since I was born." Cyrus explained. He didn't know what the General wanted him to say, since what he said was the truth.

"Then who was it that revived you?" Mustang demanded.

"I told you, I don't know! I was found alone in the woods. No one was with me." Cyrus wasn't sure why he was lying for the Cretan girl anymore. All his short life he had thought she was his mother, both from his life before and this one. Now that he had his memories back, he knew this wasn't the case at all. She had nothing to do with his life before. They hadn't even passed each other in the street when he was Envy. He knew exactly as much as the military did about why she revived him.

"Didn't I say 'I don't know' isn't an answer?!" Mustang exploded, making Cyrus flinch.

"Sir, can I please ask what this is all about?" Ross inquired. Cyrus looked to her again. So far she had been the only one that showed any kind of concern for him. Could she help him?

"Lieutenant, I told you this was an important case, and you interrupting it won't be tolerated." The General growled back at her.

"Understood Sir, but I'm wondering what this boy could have done to deserve such cruelty." She spit back.

Mustang stood straight. "You never got a chance to see the face of the homunculus that killed Brigadier General Hughes and then framed you for it." Roy explained. "This is that Homunculus."

Ross gasped. Her eyes fell back onto Cyrus, who stared back at her with a similar look of shock. The memory returned to him at the same time it returned for the Lieutenant. "Laboratory 5. You're the one." She mumbled. "I thought they were all dead." She whispered.

Roy shook his head. "That's the mystery. Someone revived this one. We're trying to determine why." He explained. 'Really?' Cyrus thought. He had been under the impression the main goal was to kill him.

"Sir," said the scientist man, addressing Mustang. "The Stone…we were unable to extract it using the methods understood." He explained. "The Stone reacts like nothing we have seen when the creature takes damaged."

"What?" Cyrus managed to moan. He gasped when the wound in his chest sparked. His regeneration tried to force his broken bones to mend against the metal tools. After the red light faded, a second series of sparks flared, but this time it was white. Through the pain, Cyrus was confused. What had been that second light? He saw the General was perplexed. What had he seen?

Mustang turned to the First Lieutenant. "Go back to my office and have Captain Hawkeye fill you in. I'll return shortly." He ordered.

The First Lieutenant was hesitant, looking at Cyrus. She left, making Cyrus' stomach drop. Now he was alone with the General.

Mustang pulled out a paper from his coat, shoving it into Cyrus' line of sight. "Does this have something to do with your Stone?"

Cyrus tried to stifle a gasp. It was the Cretan girl Lyda, the one who revived him. He had completely forgotten the picture was in the violin case. He was sure he had left it in his travel trunk back home. Then again his mind had been in a blur since Boamos died.

He was sure Mustang took note of his horrified expression. Mustang bombarded him with questions. "Who is she? Did you get the stone from this girl? Was she the one who revived you?" Cyrus' mouth went dry, knowing the General had caught him in a lie. He had said he knew nothing about his creation. They were able to piece together this girl was involved. How could they know that from a single picture…unless these people knew something about her that he didn't?

"I…I don't know who she is." He mumbled. When Mustang frowned he continued. "I saw her in a dream once." He finally admitted. It had almost been two years with no word from the Cretan girl. Even if she was alive, He didn't have an alliance to her, now that he knew she wasn't his true creator.

"What did you dream?" asked the voice of Hawkeye, who had entered the room unnoticed. She was as cold and mechanical as usual, but Cyrus noticed her loose that calm composure for a few seconds when she saw the condition he was in.

"I was in darkness." Cyrus whispered. "I saw her over me from a doorway of light. She dropped a White Stone into me and released me back into the world." He made sure to leave out the other two stones she had. That would give these people far too much information about Lorelei and Bounty.

"Did she have other Stones?" Mustang asked, making Cyrus wonder if the man had read his mind. These people knew about Creta and the Stones. They knew there was more than one, and they were piecing it all together faster than Cyrus could keep up.

"Not that I saw." He said, masking his lie with a pained grunt, which he didn't have to fake as his body attempted to regenerate again.

"Did she say anything to you?" Hawkeye went on to ask.

"She said, 'It has to be this way, I'm sorry.' That's all I heard." He quoted.

"And what about this?" Mustang said, pulling out the picture of his birth array. Cyrus winced. He had forgotten about that to.

"It was the circle I was found in." He mumbled.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us about this?!" Mustang yelled.

"I didn't want you to hurt her." Cyrus said, unable to hide the growing fear in his voice. "I've never seen her outside of that dream though…so I don't know where she is."

Mustang growled, but was interrupted by the bearded scientist. "Sir, what should we do about the Stone?"

Mustang broke his gaze with Cyrus. "I'll contact a specialist. Until then, let the wound close. We don't want it running out of power before we can understand it." He ordered.

"And the prisoner?" Hawkeye questioned.

"Keep him here until the specialist arrives. With his power blocked he's not going anywhere." He ordered before marching out of the room, his Captain close behind. Cyrus closed his eyes. He tried to come to peace with the idea of never leaving the confines of the lab.

* * *

When Mustang arrived back at his office, his face twisted into a scowl. The large muscular Lieutenant Coronel Armstrong was standing by the door. His annoyance faded when he saw the Armstrong's blond brows pushed down into a serious frowned. Then it wasn't about the stupid after party.

"General, what is going on here?" Armstrong asked. "My First Lieutenant has informed me of strange activity." Mustang scowled. First Lieutenant Ross _told_ on him to the Lieutenant Coronel? He sighed, knowing he would have told the man anyway. He told Armstrong everything, from the Cretan message to Envy and White Stone.

By the end of the explanation, the large man had to take a seat on the couch near the door. "The homunculi that killed Brigadier General Hughes…he's alive?" he whispered.

"And somehow involved in the Cretan conspiracy." Roy added.

Hawkeye chimed in. "I don't think he knows much about it. He had amnesia until this morning."

"Hey General, It occurred to me." Havoc said. "Don't we know a Xingese guy who has insider information on the workings of a homunculus mind?"

Riza glanced at him. "Emperor Ling?"

Mustang pursed his lips. If there was anyone who knew the workings of a homunculi's mind, it would be Ling. He lived in the mind of a homunculus for months. "We'll ask him. It may help to get a better prospective on this." he said.

"I can send my First Lieutenant to do this." The Lieutenant Coronel volunteered. He looked around the room to see Ross was no longer there. "Where did she go?"

* * *

Cyrus lay panting on the examination table where they left him. They had removed the tools from his chest and the wound had closed at a sluggish pace. The rods in his back were never removed and were now the main source of his discomfort. He was alone in the room and still locked to the table.

In his isolation his mind wandered to his family. He guessed he had been gone for a whole day and most of the night. There was no clock in the room so he had no way of knowing for sure. He still didn't know how to warn his family from his current position. When he was first left alone he had struggled with all his remaining strength against the restraints. His attempts got him nowhere, and he was as discouraged as ever.

The door clicked open, and his head turned as much as he could manage. To his surprise (and great relief) it wasn't the General. First Lieutenant Ross stood in the doorway, a bundle of something white in her arms. The guilt hit Cyrus all over again. He wondered if she came to yell at him, or hurt him for almost having her killed.

She seemed calm, making her way over until she was by his side. "Hello." She greeted. Cyrus swallowed, but remained silent. "My name is Maria Ross. What's your name?" she asked.

Cyrus stared at her in confusion. He thought everyone in the military knew him as Envy. Did she care to know his actual name? "Cyrus." He answered, his voice jarring when he heard how weak and hoarse it sounded.

"Nice to meet you Cyrus." She said.

"I'm sorry." He whispered before he could stop himself. "I'm so sorry." He repeated. He wanted to say more, explain how he wanted to take back what he did in his other life. It was all he was able to think of at the time.

She shook her head and unfolded the bundle in her arms. It was a thin blanket, and she draped it over his bare body. "No, I'm sorry. You shouldn't be tortured like this. It isn't right." She said, wrapping the sheet around him as best she could.

Cyrus was baffled. "But, I was-"

"They said you didn't have your memories, and then they forced you to remember. That wasn't right either. You had nothing to do with what that other homunculus did, so don't think about it anymore."

Cyrus stared at her, both shocked and relieved. She had forgiven him, and he still had his ally. He didn't have to be in this place alone. "Thank you." he said. He had never been so grateful to a stranger.

"What can I do for you?" she offered gently. Cyrus thought on her offer. If he was in better humor he'd ask if she could let him go. Her rank was lower than every other person he had met so far so her bargaining ability was low. He also couldn't ask about his family, because he still wasn't positive the General didn't put her up to this. Instead, he settled on something that had been on his mind for a while.

"I came here with a violin…and a few articles of clothes that meant a lot to me. Do you know if they have been destroyed?" he wondered. He knew Boamos' note and the picture of the Cretan girl were ok, since the general had showed them to him.

"They were ok. I saw them both in General Mustang's office." She assured him.

"Could you make sure they are not destroyed?" He asked.

"They won't be, but I promise I'll look after them." she agreed. They both turned when the door opened and a large soldier walked in. Cyrus was sure he had seen the man before, either in a memory or more recently marching in the parade. 'Armstrong.' He recalled.

"Yes Lieutenant Coronel?" Ross asked. Armstrong regarded Cyrus shuttering on the table. If he wasn't mistaken Cyrus saw the same pity Ross had.

"Um, yes. We need you back at base." He explained.

Ross looked to Cyrus. "I'll be back." She promised. He nodded. He still wasn't sure why she was helping him, but he was still glad for her. Ross and her superior left the room, and the door locked behind them.

He tried to sleep. Cut off from most of his power Cyrus was exhausted. The pain continued to jar him awake. He growled in frustration, wishing he could pass out.

"Cy-rus!" Screeched a high voice above him. He startled, looking up to see a vent overhead. A familiar feathered face was behind the bars.

"Jabby," Cyrus gasped, seeing Dr. Rodger's Chimera pecking at the air vent. Rodger had always bragged about the things tracking ability. Rodger and Trovius must have sent out the creature to track him down.

"It's Rodg-er!" the bird repeated back for the older alchemist. "Where a-re you son, we're lo-oking for yo-u." So it must have been later then he first thought. He was terrified for his family all over again. If Jabby was out looking for him then everyone else was out searching as well. They would be in the city, asking people or soldiers if they had seen him. They were going to be captured if they asked the wrong person. Seeing the feathered creature Cyrus finally saw the opportunity to save his family.

"Jabby, repeat." Cyrus said in a loud whisper. Jabby tilted his head and gave a click, a sign he was ready to listen to the message. Cyrus cleared his throat of the pain and spoke. "Trovius, Rodger. It's me, Cyrus." He began, giving a pause to let the information sink in for the animal. Jabby clicked, waiting for the rest. "You're all in danger. I'm a prisoner of the military and their out looking for you. You have to get the caravan out of Central and as far away as possible." He explained, glancing between the door and Jabby. If someone walked in Jabby would be caught and his family was doomed.

He didn't have the heart to tell them who he was. How he was actually a monster that had an active role in nearly having them all sacrificed. He wanted them to be safe and happy, and if they would be safe away from him then that's how it had to be. "I'm ok, but you need to stop looking for me and leave. You have to trust me." He hoped Trovius and Rodger wouldn't be able to hear his lie about him being ok in Jabby's tone. His throat tightened, stopping his message so Jabby didn't record his voice breaking. Cyrus took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

There was no noise from the hall outside. This made him think he had time to say a bit more. "I don't know if we will ever see each other again, but in case we don't…I want to say goodbye. I never said this out loud, because I never knew how to say it until now. I love you all. I always have, and I wish I was with you now, but it's too dangerous. I hope you have a long and happy life." Now his voice cracked, but he was running out of time and had to wrap things up. "G-good-bye."

Jabby chirped, reaching the end of his limit to record. Cyrus nodded to the chimera, swallowing the sob back down his throat. "Did you get all that Jabby?" he asked.

"Got i-t!" it chirped.

"Take it back to Dr. Rodger." He ordered, hoping the bird would stay just as hidden going out as he did coming into the base.

"Dadd-y?" Jabby said, perking up at the mention of his creator's name.

"Yes. Take it to Rodger, your daddy." Cyrus confirmed. Jabby jumped back from the vent, off to send his message. Cyrus watched him vanish into the shadow of the air duct. He felt hope, praying his family would be far away and safe by morning. The thought was comforting. For the first time since he entered the nightmarish military base he smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

"Emperor Ling insisted he wanted to come and see the homunculus in person." Fury explained to the General after getting off the phone.

"Of course he does." Mustang sighed, rubbing his temples with his hands as his eyes studied the strange array on his desk. Ling. One more party Mustang would have to balance in this ever growing calamity.

Mustang had his head in one of his hands. He scanned through the few documents they were able to scrounge up relating to the Cretan tribe. He had been in contact with Fuhrer Grumman, who was working with his close council. Even worse, Grumman had invited the General from Briggs. Armstrong had cringed from his seat when getting that news.

The silence of the room had lasted for an hour while Mustang and his team worked. It was well into the night and the tension was thick. Mustang looked up at his men, taking note of the bags under their eyes. He was starting to get cross eyed as well, knowing they would have to take a break sometime. He glanced at his pocket watch to see it was four in the morning. Sixteen hours had passed since they captured Envy.

As he was standing to dismiss his team, the door creaked open. There stood Lieutenant Ross, her face looking fatigued and solemn. Mustang pursed his lips. He assumed she had most likely checked in on the homunculus for reasons he still didn't understand.

"Sir," Ross began. She hesitated, as if deciding her words carefully. "Cyrus wants to talk to you." All Mustang's team was staring up between the two. It caught everyone off guard, Mustang included.

"What?" he asked.

"He had a question for you." she specified.

"What does he want?" he demanded, now irritated. He was tired, and didn't want to deal with whatever the thing had to say.

Ross shook her head. "I'm not sure Sir, he didn't specify. Please sir, at least-" she took a deep breath, trying to collect herself despite her exhaustion. "He's not doing well sir. Please don't blow him off." she begged.

"Not doing well?" Mustang scoffed. He stood from his desk with stiff movements. "The thing is immortal, he's fine." He growled as he walked towards the door. "We'll reconvene tomorrow. Everyone meets back here at-"

"General!" Lieutenant Ross hissed. He stared at her, taken aback from her outburst.

"The lab is on the way back home Sir." Hawkeye mumbled before he could snap back at the Lieutenant.

He sighed before yanking on his dark coat. "I was eager to get home but I guess that's not meant to be." He growled, marching out of the room with Hawkeye and Ross close behind.

They drove to the Laboratory in silence, and Mustang stomped his way to the room where Envy was being held. Yanking the door open, Mustang paused when he set eyes on the creature. Lieutenant Ross had been right when she stated he was not doing well. The homunculus' eyes were glassy and rimmed with dark circles. His pale thin body crawled with chills. The thin blanket no longer helped the uncontrollable trembling. His body never gave up the fight to try and reject the rods as the red sparks flared, making the homunculus jar.

Despite the very sad state their prisoner was in, Mustang stared down onto him, crossing his arms. "What do you want Homunculus?" he demanded.

He turned his head as much as he could. Mustang ignored how the creatures trembling seemed to get worse when they made eye contact.

He opened his mouth to talk, but it looked like his throat was so dry it hurt to inhale. He swallowed hard. "I'm waiting." Mustang hissed, glancing at his pocket watch.

"I keep seeing, these thoughts are haunting me, I can't get them out of my head." The homunculus whispered.

Mustang raised an eyebrow. The things memories were still returning. That made sense since Envy had been well over one hundred and seventy years old. 'So then he can't handle it? Good.' Mustang thought. Maybe it was some semblance of justice for all the people he had killed. "Should I care homunculus?" Mustang snapped.

"I…I wanted to know, about the man I killed. Hughes." He mumbled. Hawkeye and Ross gasped in the doorway.

Now Mustang was awake, his complete attention on the trembling creature. Soon enough his own fists were shaking as well. "What the hell are you getting at?" he demanded.

"I killed him." Cyrus mumbled mournfully, his eyes gaining that far off look again as if he were witnessing the event. "I know nothing about him. I don't know anything about anyone I killed…but you knew him. I wanted to know what he was like."

Tension filled the sterile room and Hawkeye was looking at Mustang's back. She worried he would ignite the defenseless creature on the table. Her eyes caught his gloved hands clench.

"He was a good man." Mustang said, to Hawkeye's utmost surprise. Even more shocking he continued. "I met him in military school many years ago. He was a man of his word, and he would go out of his way to help his friends or even strangers if he saw he was capable of helping. He fought alongside me in the Ishvalen Civil war. When I was about to give up on my life he was there to coach me through it all."

The mention of the war seemed to cause the homunculus a whole new wave of grief. But he continued to listen, hanging on every word. "He was a family man of course. A wife and a daughter. Fiercely protective of both of them. He would be proud to see them now. He was brave, gentle, loving. He…was too good of a man. He-" Mustang paused, not trusting his voice to continue. He managed to finish his thought. "There's too much that can be said, I'd need a life time to describe him." he explained. After he finished, the only sounds were that of the weeping creature.

Mustang observed him. He noted the entirety of the experience which their prisoner had gone through had broken him. Mustang stared hard into his tear soaked face. This homunculus was identical to Envy, and yet he now saw none of him in the creature in front of him. Envy cried once in his existence, and that was for himself. He never would morn the deaths of those he killed, nor bother to know more about them.

"Was that all?" Mustang asked, much softer then he had ever spoken to their prisoner. Cyrus managed to nod before whispering a shaky thank you. Mustang nodded once himself before turning from him and leaving. Ross ran back in to comfort him while Hawkeye followed after her superior.

The drive home was silent, and Hawkeye continued to cast weary glances at her cold superior. They arrived home around five in the morning, the sky showing the first signs of light. Hawkeye and Mustang peeled off their military uniforms to rest for a few hours. Hawkeye lay on her side of their bed. She studied the smooth surface of the ceiling while Mustang sat at the edge of the bed, still not talking.

With a final sigh Hawkeye reached over to pull the cord on the nightstand lamp but Mustang spoke. "Did I give the order to torture and kill an innocent boy?" he mumbled, still focused down at the plush carpet.

She didn't know how to respond. "I-I'm not sure. All I know is he's not the same homunculus as before." she finally answered. The general didn't respond so she continued. "He has Envy's memories, but…I don't think it's him. Not anymore at least." Mustang pondered this, giving a slight nod in agreement. "So, what should we do then?" she wondered out loud.

"I don't know." He admitted.

"If we removed some of his pain-"

"The only way to do that would be to remove the seal on his powers. If we did that he would be able to escape in seconds. We can't let him go. No matter what he is like now he still has Envy's memories. Plus, we still don't understand the White Stone he possesses. It can't fall into the Cretan spy's hands." Mustang explained.

Hawkeye bit her lip. "Then at the very least we should make him more comfortable. I'm sure he'll do much better not strapped to a metal table like a laboratory specimen." She pointed out. Mustang nodded again, standing from the bed and beginning to get dressed. "At least get some sleep Roy." She begged him.

"I wouldn't be able to." he said. Hawkeye sighed before getting out of bed as well.

* * *

Cyrus' eyes fluttered open yet again. The light above him was burning his eyes. He recalled back to his life in the caravan, when he hardly ever slept. He never needed to. He would spend the quiet nighttime hours playing the violin with Boamos. When Boamos passed out he wandered around lost in thought. He regretted wasting those precious moments of sleep now.

His eyes were playing tricks on him. He continued to see shadowed figures dart across the room or lights flash from nowhere. He was also hearing things. The creek of the door seemed to ring out even when he stared at the stationary door to make sure it wasn't moving.

He closed his eyes when the painful flare of his back died down, and he attempted sleep again. Fifteen minutes of rest was better than nothing. That's what he continued to tell himself every time he attempted it. So far, he wasn't making much progress.

The creek of the door rang in his left ear, and he moaned with frustration at the hallucination. With it he heard voices, and he had to open his eyes to convince his mind that there was nothing there. Cyrus jumped a bit when for the first time he had heard right. Two white coated scientists and a few blue uniformed soldiers approached.

The fear over took him again and he whimpered, having no idea how he'd be able to handle any more pain. What else could they have to do to him? Did they want to cut him open again to see the stone? Relief overtook him when he recognized one of the soldiers was Lieutenant Ross. She came to his side, placing a reassuring hand on his head.

"What are they going to do to me?" he questioned her.

With a gentle shush to calm him she shook her head. "Nothing. You're being moved."

"Moved? Where?" he went on to ask, flinching when he felt the restraints finally loosen. Cyrus was able to inhale a deep breath when the neck strap was removed. Cyrus stared at the woman over him, still waiting for an answer. His mind jumped to a foolish but hopeful thought. "Are you letting me go?"

"No. I'm sorry Cyrus but you're not leaving. We're transporting you out of the laboratory though. You won't be hurt anymore." She promised.

Lieutenant Coronel Armstrong was there to assist lifting him. Cyrus noted he seemed confused. "I thought they said he'd be heavier then he looked?" Armstrong said to Ross. Cyrus struggled to understand. Something about what he used to be as Envy.

Cyrus couldn't hold his head up. He had to lean into the large soldier while, to his surprise, they helped him dress into thin cotton pants and a loose fitting shirt. What was going on? What was with the sudden shift in the attitude towards him? Not that he was complaining. He was finally free from the Hellish room and every torture it promised, but he was still confused.

The Lieutenant Coronel lifted their now clothed prisoner into a wheelchair. Cyrus glanced around at the many humans surrounding him. Did they gain everything they needed from their experiments and were going to try and kill him now? He looked to Ross, hoping she wouldn't lie about something like that.

"Are they going to kill me?" he blurted, the vision of fire dancing behind his eyes as he thought back to his first death.

The Lieutenant Coronel answered him. "No. You're going to remain in a cell until we can decipher the mystery surrounding your Philosopher's Stone. We will put you into military protection after that." Cyrus wanted to ask why, but he thought better of it. What the hell had changed from the night before? It wasn't like he had a say in any of it.

They left the white sterile room and wheeled him down a multitude of hallways. Around a corner Cyrus spotted an iron door, protected by two guards armed with rifles. Inside was an eleven by eleven square windowless room. It contained a small bed with simple white sheets, a table, chair, and a toilet attached to the far wall. Cyrus observed the new environment. They weren't lying about the room, so he was confident he wasn't going to die, which eased his mind somewhat.

Lieutenant Coronel Armstrong helped Cyrus onto the bed. It shocked Cyrus when he wasn't locked down to the bed or handcuffed. All but Lieutenant Ross and Lieutenant Coronel Armstrong left. Cyrus heard the ticking of a clock. The iron door had a small, bared window, and through it he could see the clock. It was six.

"Is it the morning?" he asked the two, who gave a nod. His mind was fried. He struggled to do the basic math on his fingers to determine how long he had been in the military base.

"It's been eighteen hours since you've arrived here." Armstrong informed Cyrus, seeing him struggle. Cyrus nodded, dropping his hands back into his lap and looking down at his bare feet.

"Try to rest Cyrus. Someone will be bringing breakfast in a few hours, and I'll be back in a bit, after I've seen to a few things." Ross promised him.

Cyrus gazed at her through his hair. 'Breakfast?' he thought. Now they were concerned about his diet? Maybe not the military. Ross and the Lieutenant Coronel. Did they convince the General to do this? Either way he was grateful for them. "Thank you, thank you." he mumbled. "Thank you for doing this for me." He told them.

Armstrong nodded. "Your welcome, but it was actually the General who arranged this." He explained. Cyrus' mouth fell open. 'What the hell?!' he thought. Did the General hate him or not? Now he was completely confused. He didn't express this out loud; though he was sure his face reflected it.

The two left Cyrus, the heavy door locking behind them. For a long while he stared at the gray wall ahead of him, the shock having not completely worn off. He took in the depressing little room.

Taking a deep breath, Cyrus struggled to his feet. Using the table near him as support, he managed to make it to the toilet and relieved himself after such a long time of having to hold a full bladder. He struggled back and collapsed onto the bed face first to avoid agitating his sore back. His focus returned the wall, and then to the clock on the outside. It was six twenty. He wondered how long it would be until they brought food. Without the stone's power and his inability to sleep his body was desperate for any type of energy it could get. The thought of food made him homesick. He had never eaten away from his family before. When he wasn't with the gypsies he would be with Rodger and Trovius. On the rare occasion he was by himself he wouldn't eat. Then again everything so far had made him homesick, so he figured he had to get used to that feeling.

He found himself counting in time in his head and on his hands, trying to distract himself. He would lose track whenever his agitated nodes would flare up, and he'd have to start over from the beginning. Time passed like this until he was unable to remain alert. He passed out into a very uneasy, interrupting sleep. This didn't last, as he felt he had closed his eyes before the sound of the door jarred him back to reality. Whatever sleep he had managed to get didn't seem to have helped at all. He also noticed his jaw was very sore, and he figured he had been gnashing his teeth in his daze.

He turned, expecting Lieutenant Ross. It was neither her or anyone else he had seen so far. In the metal doorway, escorted by the General's right hand soldier Hawkeye was a shorter man with dark hair. This by no means was the man's most eye catching feature. Large disfiguring scars that carved across his aging and shocked face. The name was on Cyrus' lips before the memories of the man returned completely. "…Dr. Marcoh."

Dr. Marcoh observed him with disbelief. Cyrus tried to push off from the mattress to sit up. So this was the specialist Mustang had called upon to study his strange White Stone.

For a long while the two observed each other. Marcoh broke the silence. "I see it's true…I didn't believe it; thought I had finally gone senile or this was some sort of very twisted joke." he admitted in his gruff, scratchy voice. He remained in the doorway with a cautious air.

Cyrus wasn't sure what to say to that, and decided there was no reason to respond. Marcoh was very cautious, understandably. As new memory served Cyrus recalled their encounters had never been pleasant for the man. He was sure Marcoh at most expected some sort of bitter remark. He then became puzzled when Cyrus only stared at him with dark circled eyes.

"I guess," Cyrus muttered. He had to swallow first to choke down the terrible rotting taste lingering in his mouth. "You would be the best person to kill me. No one knows Philosopher's Stones better than you." his inhuman heart raced as he spoke this. He remembered a time when Marcoh was able to break down his Stone to almost nothing in battle. It had been excruciating. But, it was nothing compared to the agony of Mustang's fire. Marcoh's power had deconstructed him in one hit at least. Compared to the endless burning in those tunnels, Cyrus could only hope Marcoh made his death as quick as before.

Marcoh hesitated. He glanced back at Hawkeye, looking for instruction. "I wasn't told I would be killing you, so that's news to me." he explained when he failed to get any insight from the soldier behind him. With slow and hesitant steps Marcoh walked into the small room. He took a seat at the single chair at the table, which Cyrus noticed contained a tray of now cold food. He must have not woken up when they brought it.

Cyrus' eyes found the floor, and for a very long awkward few minutes they sat in silence. "So they say you had no clue who you were…I see you have gotten your memories back, though not all of them." The older man ventured.

"It's in fragments…but I get the gist of it, yeah." Cyrus answered flatly. He didn't like the uncomfortable small talk before they would be attempting to kill him. Even if Marcoh wasn't told Cyrus assumed Mustang did intend his death to be the man's mission.

"What about this White Stone they told me about, do you remember anything else then what you told those here?" He probed, his eyes landing on the spot on Cyrus's chest that would contained it.

"I told them everything I know about that…what else is there to know?" Cyrus inquired, glancing from the scar faced man to the Captain in the doorway. When neither answered right away he felt the room start spinning. They were going to take him back to the laboratory, he just knew it. He almost felt the hot knife cutting his skin all over again. The crackle of his body trying to pull him back together passed metal tools and cracked bones. Now new screams filled his head, taking the place of those of his torment in the tunnels. There would be more to come. Secured against that cold table. Watching through pain splotched vision as they ripped him apart.

Cyrus found himself counting in time on his hands again. He felt foolish for believing he could get out of this place with a quick and painless death. His Stone was more valued to them then his death. They would continue to wheel him into that lab as many times as they needed to until they cut out their prize for good.

"What is he talking about?" Marcoh asked Hawkeye, glancing away when Cyrus' empty stare kept him from answering any more questions.

"We sealed his power to study his stone." Hawkeye explained. She eyed Cyrus before adding, "We were able to determine how to do this through old notes left by the homunculus Father. Puncturing the energy nodes in his "children's" bodies would cut them off from their powers and render them harmless."

Marcoh gave her a confounded look. "How did you manage to do that?"

Cyrus was almost insulted by the question. "It wasn't exactly my idea, they-" Cyrus almost gagged on the sentence. His back flared up, making him grit his teeth and hold onto the bed sheets until it passed. He didn't bother continuing his thought. The display demonstrated well enough how effective the seals were. Who cared how they managed to do it, it was already done. He was weak at the time. He was drowning in Envy's memories then stabbed in the back with the seals before he could pull himself together. He was surprised he was the first one they had ever attempted the procedure. They were very officiant at it. His "Father's" notes must have been very insightful. As if he needed another reason to hate the image of the aging inhuman man.

"We were hoping," Hawkeye began. Cyrus glanced up through his hair as she spoke to the doctor. "You would be able to further examine the Stone's physical properties without having to use evasive methods, like we did."

Cyrus shuttered. So then they weren't done with him. Now it seemed as if they were trying to convince him that they only had his best interests in mind. If Cyrus wasn't so horrified by this new turn of events he would almost find the prospect comical.

Dr. Marcoh pursed his lips, glancing between the woman in the doorway and Cyrus. "I would have to say yes and no," he offered finally. "I can determine a good deal without having to see the stone. though," he paused. He looked unsure if he should continue with his train of thought with Cyrus sitting right there. Cyrus happened to agree with his hesitation, wondering why in the hell they decided to include him in the decision. As if he had some sort of say in it. "It all depends on how much is required of me to know."

"Whatever you can tell us now." she answered, and Marcoh looked back over to Cyrus, who gave him an attempt at a confused glance and a grimace. Was the doctor looking to him as if asking for permission to continue? Of course his answer would be no, but Cyrus once again had to assume his compliance was hardly a factor. He at least gave the old doctor points for his concern.

Marcoh stood, and Cyrus shrank back. This gave the older man pause, but he arrived by Cyrus' bedside, dragging the chair along with him. He avoided the old man's eyes, instead watching him draw on a piece of notebook paper.

"Is this going to hurt?" Cyrus asked.

"No," Marcoh promised, and true to his word none of the small alchemic reactions that followed hurt. Marcoh would comment to himself, saying things like "impossible," or "how could this be."

Anxiety clawed in his stomach as he was ordered to turn around, revealing the three points on his back. Still he did so without a fight, knowing it wouldn't be much of one in his current state. "This output of energy should have drained you. This Stone has lasted longer than normal." Marcoh commented, and Cyrus wondered if the statement meant to be comforting. As if knowing if he had a normal stone he would have been dead by this point. In his current state, he was almost disappointed he didn't have a normal stone.

Cyrus winced as he felt the man's hands on his back, but he pulled away. "You know…I may be able to replace these seal's with one's which are not as…uncomfortable," Marcoh said.

Cyrus struggled to face him. "You can?" He asked. He was hopeful, and didn't even have time to be annoyed that they thought the rods shoved in his back were only "uncomfortable."

Marcoh looked unsure, as if retreating promising such a thing. "...Yes. I could use a seal that would only block your power once activated by an output of your stone's energy. For example, if you attempted to shape shift, it would immobilize you. If it is stable and unused then it would not affect your energy flow."

Cyrus wondered how fast he could agree to this plan before they could start working on it. Of course there would be a catch, but after another painful jolt through his body he decided he would do anything. "I will need a better understanding of your stone, and…um, I'll decide how to go about doing that. I could have this accomplished in a week or so... I'll speak to the General about this."

One more week of pain. He didn't have any other choice but to agree. Cyrus gave him a nod, but noted Marcoh seemed hesitant. He knew something that Cyrus didn't. But, Cyrus once again gave the man credit. Marcoh didn't want to do him any harm. That was odd seeing as how Envy had never given the alchemist's own pain a second thought.

Marcoh cleared his throat. "I will do this now in fact. Thank you for cooperating E-," Marcoh cut off. He almost called him Envy but thought better of it, letting the name drop at the first letter. Cyrus appreciated that.

As Marcoh left with Hawkeye, Cyrus found himself talking. "I take back what I said to you," he blurted. The doctor paused in the doorway, turning back around with a quizzical glance. "When I told you you were a fool for not betraying your village. I was wrong. It was the right choice." He insisted.

Hawkeye noted the look that overtook Marcoh. She had no idea what they were talking about, but the affect it had on the aging man was evident.

Marcoh's eyes scanned the sickly teen's face, trying to decide if what he said was sincere. "…Thank you." Marcoh finally said before hurrying out into the hall.

* * *

Marcoh sat in Mustang's office, his arms crossed over his chest as he spoke. "It makes me wonder why those from Creta couldn't make their own homunculi. Why use those that attacked our country?" He looked through his own notes and those written by the scientists who had examined the stone in person. "Though the concept of the Stone itself has me stumped. The White Stone must be pulling its power from somewhere…You saw it regenerate its own power as well?" he asked, glancing up at Mustang.

Mustang gave him a stiff nod. "After he regenerated, the Stone seemed to regenerate itself."

Marcoh shook his head, bewildered. "Energy doesn't come from nothing, its drawing its power from some source. A normal Philosopher's Stone takes it's power from the humans it's created from. This is different… Though my examination of it was brief I didn't detect the same cluster of human energy found in Philosopher Stones. I will have to study this much closer to understand…though that brings up a second quandary. How much discomfort are we prepared to inflict on the homunculus that is the stone's container?" He asked, giving Mustang a worried glance.

"I've spoken to Grumman," Mustang began. "He has given us orders to do whatever is necessary to get to the bottom of this phenomenon."

"I am uncomfortable with that notion," Marco added, his brow creasing. "I have made it clear to the military that my continued scientific contributions hinge on me no longer preforming experimentation on unwilling subjects. No matter who they used to be."

"Understood." Mustang agreed, leaning back into his chair.

Marcoh sighed again. "…I suppose I shouldn't have promised the boy I could reduce his pain…" Marco said, his voice heavy with guilt. "I told him I could replace the current seal with another that was painless. To do this though I need a better understanding of this Stone, which will be hard without causing him more agony." He explained further.

"Can you still do that?" Hawkeye asked.

"I can attempt to. It will take a few days to calculate an array to work around the strange Stone with my vague knowledge of it. It will be a lot of trial and error if I do not study the stone and its connections to him in close detail." He paused, glancing up at Mustang with an eye brow raised. "Off topic question, but what will we be calling him, since I am more like Envy then he is."

"He said his name in this life is Cyrus," Ross said. everyone turning when the Lieutenant entered the room. "Our other guests are here. They still don't know what's going on. Should I inform them on the way?"

Mustang shook his head. "We can't talk about this case outside of this room because of the spies. They also won't believe it unless they see Env…Cyrus in person." He spun in his chair, glancing out over the city from his window. "We need to flush out these Cretan spies before they get wise to Cyrus' presence here."

* * *

Cyrus startled awake when he heard someone next to him in his cell. He assumed it was Lieutenant Ross. He felt his heart sink into his stomach when he opened his eyes and realized it wasn't the comforting woman. This didn't mean he didn't know the human lingering near him. He had seen her for what felt like agonizing hours in that laboratory room. She was not one of the ones holding any of the tools that dug into him, but she helped. She was the scientist that held the cloth over his mouth and eyes, so they didn't have to hear his screams.

He didn't say anything. He didn't even breathe as he watched her from behind his hair. The woman was arranging a few things on the table, though he couldn't see what it was.

Her curly light brown hair was back in a loose fitted pony tail, as it was when he first saw her the day before. She turned towards him. His act of pretending to be asleep cracked apart when his body flinched away from her. Her face was tan, her green eyes windowed behind her wiry glasses. Her expression was calm; giving him what he could only assume was a sympathetic smile.

"I was about to wake you," she explained to him in a thick accent that sounded familiar to him. It wasn't because he had heard all the voices of those in that laboratory. After a while they all faded together into a painful blur. It was a western drawl, much like the Gypsies had. A lingering trait from their lineage in Aerugo.

Cyrus failed to answer her, regarding her like she was a wild animal. If he didn't move she wouldn't pounce. She seemed to sense this and kept a healthy distance between them. "I have volunteered to be on Dr. Marcoh's team, my name is Emala." She greeted, continuing when his silence drug on. "You're Cyrus right?" Cyrus wondered why in the world the woman was attempting small talk with him. Were they going to pretend the past day had not happened? As much as he wanted to forget it for everyone's convenience he hardly believed he would for a very very long time. The scientist Emala grimaced. She seemed to finally get it. "Is my presence making you uncomfortable?"

"A bit, yeah." He finally muttered. The venom he meant to have behind the statement didn't make it through the meek voice that came out instead.

"I'm sorry," she said, which surprised him. "Dr. Marcoh is busy with the affairs of the array. Though I volunteered I should have considered this. I am here because of my want to apologize to you for the part I played before," she sighed, giving him a guilty look. "Though pain medicine did not work before, Dr. Marcoh created this. He hopes it will ease some of your discomfort. Of course it may not work, so it will be your choice."

"My choice?" he whispered, studying the woman's face, wondering what in the world she was getting at. None of the other people that tortured him had come to apologize, and what exactly was he supposed to say? Who knows, maybe she was truly sorry. She was following orders, like every other military puppet here.

He glanced passed her to see the vile of liquid and the stacked papers decorated with different arrays. It was Marcoh's alchemy, meaning there was a chance it could work. But, he also spotted the needle resting next to the set up, and he was back in that laboratory. He couldn't move, feeling the sharp jabbing under his sore skin.

"Yes," she said, pulling him back into reality. "If you don't want to try it-" she began.

Cyrus would have found the timing almost humorous. The pain flared again, interrupting her while he gripped the bed sheets until it passed. When it died down once more he glanced up at her through his hair. "O-ok," he finally agreed. He was not crazy about the woman being the one to do this at all. In fact, he couldn't help but wonder if every other person in the building had dropped dead leaving her as the only option left to be jabbing him with needles.

Emala placed the vile in the array, changing it's color with an alchemic reaction. Then she pulled the liquid into a needle with its plunger. He knew he was too nervous to stand up and sit in the chair at the table so she came to him. He couldn't wrap his head around how patient she was with him. This was the same woman who only a day ago was studying his dissected body with the same passion of someone ordering lunch. She waited for him to stop hyperventilating. He looked at the other wall and offered his arm. He wished Lieutenant Ross was there. The pain didn't last for long, and it was nothing compared to everything else he had gone through. Soon enough she was back at the table cleaning everything up. His eyes found the red sparks pulling the small prick of a wound back together.

Dizziness hit him like a train. Emala helped him lay back down before he could fall over onto the floor. So then they had finally managed to do something, though he could hardly say it was helping with the pain. Though he couldn't focus on it with the room spinning. The whirling slowed somewhat when he pressed against the mattress. He couldn't answer Emala when she asked if he was feeling any better. He honestly couldn't say. His mind was in a fog. 'This can work.' He thought. It could be enough to knock him out and sleep away the rest of whatever these people had instore for him. If he was lucky he wouldn't wake up.

Emala was talking to him again, her accent the only thing he was focusing on as it almost reminded him of home. He wasn't exactly thinking straight anymore. He thought she said she'd be back to check on him.

"Wait," he called after her. At first he thought he had only imagined saying it, as it didn't feel as if his mouth even opened. She turned, so he assumed he had said it out loud. "Where are you from, you sound familiar?" he inquired, not even sure why he was asking, but he was so fixated on the stupid detail.

Emala laughed, as if assuming her accent gave her away. "Well, I was born here in Amestris, but my Mother is from Aerugo," she said, confirming his suspicions. As she walked out the door she paused. "But I take after my father, who hails from Creta." With that she left him, and he passed out before he heard the door close.

Cyrus wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it felt like centuries going by how stiff he was. Once again someone had entered his depressing little room, voices chewing into his brain. His head was still spinning, though not like it had been. He focused hard. He had to pull his mind back on track and ignore the pain that he almost forgot about in his drug induced fog.

Someone was standing in the doorway. They didn't say anything. Cyrus turned. He didn't like how slow his movements were under the strange drug doing who knows what to his insides. He knew the man standing there, dumbfounded, but for almost half a minute Cyrus didn't recall who it was.

Then it hit him. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or frustrated hysteria but when he saw the shocked expression on Edward Elric's face he couldn't help but laugh.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Hello everyone. Sorry for the three week delay. I got doubly sick with my immune system issue and couldn't work let alone write. But now I have been pumped full of every antibiotic known to man and have caught up! I hope you enjoy this shorter chapter, and tell me what you think.

Also, to my fellow East Coast Peoples, please be safe during Hurricane Florence.

* * *

"You grew." Cyrus noted weakly. Edward didn't react like Cyrus thought he would. He remained petrified, his gaze locked onto Cyrus. "You got your arm back." Cyrus added, seeing flesh colored fingers on either side of the man.

Edward broke from his daze. He walked into the room, falling into the chair across from Cyrus' bed. "How?" Edward finally asked.

Cyrus laughed again, his tone empty. "I wish I could tell ya." He said with a shrug. He winced, the motion hurting. Cyrus looked up, seeing someone else at the door. For the first time Cyrus didn't recognize the young man there. He was related to the ex Fullmetal Alchemist, sharing the same hair, eyes, and features. "Who is this?" He asked Edward. The casual nature he asked it surprised him.

The man in the doorway spoke. "That's right, you never saw my real body, did you. Would it help if my whole body was metal?"

His voice and the hint clicked in Cyrus' mind. "Alphonse …you both did it. You got your bodies back."

Alphonse blinked, looking at Edward for some sort of answer. Edward maintained Cyrus' gaze, as if trying to read his thoughts. Cyrus swallowed, pushing his mess of hair from his face. "You're not him, are you?" Edward said.

"I have no idea what I am anymore." Cyrus answered. The pain in his voice was obvious. "I've been me, Cyrus, since I was born. But now I have memories of Envy. I can't…I'm not like him. What he did, it makes me sick. I can't handle the guilt. I wish I would die so I don't have to face it….but they say my Stone can't run out of power."

"The White Gems of the Golden Hills." Edward muttered, his eyes breaking away from Cyrus' to gaze at the wall. Cyrus looked at him curiously. Did he actually have answers?

"Mustang said his Stone was White." Alphonse said. "That's what you were studying in Creta right brother?"

Edward sat up straight, his brows furrowed. "Sure did. Cyrus, I think I may be able to figure this out."

Cyrus perked up. "About my Stone or why I'm here in this world at all?"

"Both." Edward said, grabbing his brief case at the door and clicking it open on the table. Cyrus tried to see the papers he was juggling, but couldn't pull himself off the bed. Edward saw him struggling and brought a stack of notes to him, plopping himself down on the bed. Alphonse pulled up a chair in front of them both, the iron door slamming shut. The movement of the bed made Cyrus wince, but more than anything he was shocked. The brothers trusted him. Aside from Ross, they had been the only ones to be so casual with him.

Edward's focus was on a formula in his hands that mine as well have been a different language to Cyrus. "These are some of the notes I took in Creta when I studied there. That's why Mustang called me by the way. Al was able to identify the exact Xingese used in your transportation array as well. But, your Stone is something I learned about from surviving members of the Arbus people in Creta."

"I'm familiar…" Cyrus said, feeling like he had to contribute something.

Edward continued. "It's known to them as the four White Gems of the Golden Hills. They were a holy relic to these people for hundreds of years, housed in Homunculus. But, their tribe was ransacked by the Cretan military not too long ago. They stole one of the Stones and the other three vanished. Whoever revived you needed you to replace the homunculi destroyed in that raid."

"But why me?" Cyrus said, with more bite in his tone then he meant to have. "Why didn't they revive their own homunculus they had before?"

"Your Portal theory brother!" Alphonse gasped, making Cyrus jump.

Edward snapped his fingers, nodding at his brother with a smile. "I've had a working theory relating to your kind, ever since the Promised Day…you remember that right?"

"Unfortunately." Cyrus answered.

"Essentially, Father, or any other homunculus have their consciousness taken from the Source. We call it the Portal of Truth, and lots of other things. When you die, you don't vanish into nothing, you go back to that source. This is my theory. Each individual consciousness fades back into the collective of the Portal over time. This would explain why they pulled you out instead of the Cretan homunculi. Those homunculi died almost twenty years ago. They would have long since returned to the collective of the Source. But you, and the others from Amestris, you only died a little over two years ago. You were still reachable, but that could explain why your memories had faded. You were fading back into the Source. The one who revived you expected their own homunculi, but they weren't there to retrieve anymore. They couldn't create more, so they were limited to whatever was in the Portal."

Cyrus exhaled, trying to follow the logic. Both brothers looked confident, and it made sense. Once again he had been wrong about the woman he thought was his mother. She used him, Lorelei and Bounty because they were all she had to work with. He fought tightening knots in his gut. "But why need me at all?" He whispered.

Edward shook his head. "It's the White Stone that needs you. The Stone draws its power from ones inner Portal, which would kill the person using it. A homunculus is from the Portal. The power is drawn directly from the Portal through you, and you can't die. There for the power is endless, as long as it's given time to regenerate. Without you, the Stone is worthless."

"This is amazing brother." Alphonse said, grabbing the notes from him. "Thank goodness you studied in Creta. We would be totally in the dark if you didn't."

"So then I'm a weapon?" Cyrus asked between them. The brother's conversation died at once. Cyrus' gaze was fixed on the gray walls. His face was bleak. "I thought the woman who revived me was my mother. She brought me back because she loved me…nope, just another pawn, like I was to Father. Not much changes, and shit sure did catch up to me." His head fell into his hands.

The brothers were silent, until Edward cleared his throat. "Hell, what else is new. Me and Al were Father's stupid Sacrifices, Mustang was too. Then we kicked Father's ass. Point is, you're only a pawn if you allow yourself to be."

Cyrus managed a weak laugh. "That's a lot of advice for your enemy."

"Was Father revived by the Cretans?" Alphonse asked.

"No." Cyrus answered.

"Then how are we still enemies?" Alphonse countered.

"Trust me," Edward said as he stood. "I knew Envy better then you. You aren't him. You may have his face, powers and now memories, that guy's still long gone. So we'll get you out of this situation as soon as we can."

"And how do you have the authority to promise something like that Elric?" All three in the room jumped at the intruding voice. The door unlocked and two soldiers entered. Cyrus shrunk back at once. Mustang was among them, lingering in the doorway. But, it wasn't Mustang who spoke. That belonged to the other soldier. She was a tall, cold eyed woman, whose gaze was like a frozen sword impaling through Cyrus. Her uniform was also decorated with metals, and a black and silver sword at her belt.

"Olivier Armstrong?" Edward stammered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

'Armstrong?' Cyrus thought. This cold hearted wolf in human skin was related to the kind Armstrong he knew?

Olivier's resting face scowl somehow deepened. "Fuhrer Grumman has informed me of the situation. I needed to see the creature for myself." She observed Cyrus, her gaze judging. She walked forward, coming to an abrupt stop before Cyrus. He had to look up to maintain eye contact. This allowed him to get a closer then wanted look at her metals and the stars lining her shoulders. She was a General. He was almost sure she even outranked Mustang. "I hear you have denied the name Envy. Which is it? Are you that monster or not?" She demanded.

Alphonse began to protest. "He's definitely differen-"

"Silence Elric!" Olivier hissed, her focus never breaking from Cyrus.

"I'm Envy's body, but not his mind…Edward figured it out. My name is Cyrus. I'm a-I was a traveler." Cyrus said.

Olivier snorted. "That is still too damn close to the real thing. So why exactly haven't we destroyed this thing if it's connected to Father?" She directed the question at Mustang.

'Lovely…' Cyrus thought. He managed to glance at Mustang, who was avoiding his gaze. "He can't be destroyed." Mustang said his voice neutral. "We just learned that the Stone he possesses is a weapon from Creta. Grumman wants to know if we can somehow use the power. But this base is compromised, as we already know."

"It's for our country's defense as well." An elderly man in the hall said. Cyrus didn't see him, but both General's saluted him. The voice was familiar. He had mocked it many times with Boamos and Florica when they listened to the state of the union on the radio. The Fuhrer was standing outside the door. "We'll meet in your office Mustang. General Armstrong has arranged a meeting about our current predicament."

Mustang broke his salute. "And what is it about sir?"

Olivier answered for her leader. "The relocation of the Homunculus to Briggs."

"What?" Cyrus demanded.

Olivier turned to glare at him for interrupting. "Your opinion will not be considered, so be silent."

"I don't want to go to Briggs!" Cyrus yelled back. He had been there once, disguised as a mouse when looking for leads. The land was a white frozen wasteland. The military base was somehow worse. Thick metal walls the color of dirty ice. No windows. Soldiers as cold as the outside air. Cyrus knew he would never see the sun again if he went there.

"Mustang!" Edward snapped. The Flame Alchemist seemed far away, his eyes locked to some none defined point on the table. "You can stop this!"

"Why would he?" Olivier growled, crossing her arms at Edward. "If we are questioning the competence and loyalties here in Central, why not use Briggs? My men are incorruptible. The idea of spies in MY fort is ridiculous to me. We have been fighting the front lines against Drachma without fail. Compared to the might of Drachma, any of Creta's attempts to breach our defenses will be laughable."

"I won't go…" Cyrus said, the small grip he held onto his life slipping through his fingers.

"Fuhrer Grumman!" a man outside yelled. Everyone looked to the newcomer. "Someone sent out an unauthorized transmission from our phone systems! It was sent to a settlement in Creta."

"Big surprise." Olivier snorted, stepping towards the door. "I'm sure the Homunculus' location has fallen into the hands of the enemy. We have even less time to decide." She marched out. Both brothers looked at Mustang, but he said nothing, leaving as well.

"Damnit Mustang!" Edward growled. He turned to Cyrus. "We'll get this settled. I promise." Edward and Alphonse chased after the group, the door slamming loud, rattling his bones. Cyrus exhaled. The silence was suffocating.

* * *

Mustang fell into his chair, winded by the trek across the base. "What was the massage?" he asked of Fury.

The smaller soldier spoke while holding the headset to his ear. "The message was, 'We found one of your Sister's dolls here in Central.' That was the message sent to Creta."

"Damnit." Mustang sighed.

"So then their coming here for Cyrus?" Ross said.

"We can handle whatever attack they can throw at us." Grumman said. Even still he continued. "But they know how to use the White Stone. We don't yet."

"Then we need to worry about how The Stone can be used against us." Olivier pointed out.

Edward chimed in. "There has to be a better solution then sending Cyrus to Briggs."

Olivier turned on him. "I'm confused why your even still here Elric. If memory serves you left the military. That means you don't have a say."

Riza spoke up. "He has discovered the White Stone's origins."

"Which he has done. So he is no longer needed." Olivier said.

Alphonse interrupted. "What about Xing? Emperor Ling will be here any day. He could take Cyrus farther from Creta's reach."

"Giving the power of the Stone to another country?" Olivier laughed.

"I agree that is out of the question." Grumman said sternly. "Amestris has custody of the Stone and homunculus, and that is how it will stay."

"The homunculus is innocent, Olivier." Armstrong intoned. "Whatever we decide it should not be a detriment to him."

Olivier scoffed. "Please Alex! Don't make me loose the respect you managed to scrape back together for yourself."

Mustang's head hit his desk, the arguing voices becoming a blur in his office. He peeked up, focusing on Cyrus' violin case. He retrieved the photo they found between two pieces of sheet music. They hadn't informed Cyrus they found it, as it was a picture of him with many others. They looked like Aerugonian Gypsies. One man who had the violin case at his feet had his arm around Cyrus' shoulder. There was a girl as well, hanging on Cyrus' other arm. Many others were behind them, and it was more than the military needed to start the search for them. The family Cyrus was protecting. There had been a Gypsy camp outside of Central for a week. Roy went there the day before, but the group of travelers was gone. It looked as if they had packed up in a hurry, leaving a few tents, and clothes lines behind.

"Snap out of it Mustang!" Edward said. "You need to fight this. You know Cyrus isn't Envy. Say something damnit! Mustang!"

The phone on Mustang's desk rang, and he didn't let it make it past the first ring. "General Mustang's office." He said. He had to pull the receiver away from his ear as the screams on the other line rang sharply in his ear. "What's wrong?" he demanded. The voices in his office fell silent, every pair of eyes on him.

"It's past the front Command Gate, Gha! Something just blew through the first defenses!" The voice on the other line yelled. "Where is Fuhrer Grumman, he didn't answer at his office?"

"Who is attacking? Are they Cretan forces?" Mustang demanded, standing from his desk and slipping on his gloves. The message to Creta had only been sent out. Those from Creta couldn't put together an attack in such a short time.

"It's not human!" They yelled, gun fire rattling the connection. "It's a monster, bullets bounce off, it's whole body is covered in black impenetrable armor! It's headed for the prisoner's hall!"


	30. Chapter 30

Cyrus jolted upright despite his screaming nodes when the gunfire erupted outside. "What's going on?" Cyrus asked the guards outside of his cell. They ignored him. They loaded their weapons, ready for whatever it was that was coming down the hall.

Gunfire rattled his chest, muzzle flash poured through the iron bars. Two human sized thuds hit the door, and the gunfire stopped. A snicker cut through the abrupt silence. "Excuse me gentlemen, but you were in the way."

"Bounty!" Cyrus gasped. He recognized the warped voice of his homunculus brother while wearing his full body shield.

Through the bars Bounty's dark gray face appeared. "There you are! This place is like a maze," He explained. His clawed fingers came through the iron door and then ripped it off the hinges. "So why the hell couldn't you have done that yourself?" Bounty paused when he saw Cyrus. "Damn…what the hell did they do to you?" he questioned while retracting the shield from his face.

Cyrus stumbled to his feet but failed to remain upright for long. Bounty managed to catch him before he hit the floor. "What the hell are you doing here?" Cyrus panted.

"Ungrateful little brat," Bounty spat. It wasn't as hostile as he would have been any other time. "I'm rescuing you. Your family called me a few days back and said you were neck deep in some shit with the military…I see they weren't wrong."

Cyrus gasped. "I told them to run, didn't they get my message?" He assumed the camp was still right where he had left it, sitting defenseless outside of Central City.

"Yeah they got your little suicide note. Don't worry, they headed out, but we're going to meet them in the next town over…why can't you stand up?"

"They sealed my power," Cyrus said.

Bounty winced when Cyrus motioned towards his back. The red regenerative light struggled against the alchemic seal marking his upper back. "Ouch." Bounty couldn't help but say. "I could try and take them out…Eh, I'll let the docs take care of this. They know what they're doing." he said. Bounty lifted Cyrus up onto his back, his face engulfed with his shield once again.

Cyrus grimaced at the brightness of the hall as they ran out. He spotted the two unconscious guards sprawled against the wall. Bounty glanced over his shoulder to talk. "So the front door is a bad idea. It was easy enough for me to get in that way but now with you as an easy target we should try the back." Bounty reasoned.

He slid to a stop, Cyrus hitting his head against Bounty's shoulder. Bullets struck Bounty's front and he back them into a room to keep Cyrus from being hit. "Stay here." Bounty said, dropping Cyrus in a doorway. He ran around the corner, slashing at the blockade.

Cyrus held his head, the lights, flashes and gunfire radiating pain through his body. He tried to shift, knowing he was little more than dead weight. He felt the heat in his back, his chest throbbing. He gagged, his body shuttering in protest.

"Cut it out." Bounty snapped. He grabbed Cyrus off the ground, ignoring when Cyrus yelped in pain. "We don't know what using your power will do to ya in this state. Stop being a stubborn idiot and let me handle this."

Under any other circumstance Cyrus would have protested. But for reasons he was baffled by, Bounty was saving him. He remained limp on Bounty's shoulders, determined to at least not get in the way of his own rescue.

They were stuck on the fourth floor. Soldiers were at every staircase. Every corner they turned gun fire erupted, making Bounty curse and retreat. "We'll have to get to the roof and jump. Sorry in advanced if the fall breaks something of yours." Bounty said, kicking in a locked doorway to get to the far edge of the building. "Windows! Even better." Bounty said, spotting the large double paned glass windows lining the dim hallway.

"Stop!" A soldier ordered, running right into their path. Bounty skid to a stop, confused when the uniformed man held up his hand poised to snap his fingers rather than a gun.

"General Mustang." Cyrus whimpered. "He's a fire alchemist!"

Bounty cracked his stone knuckles. "He's about to be a dead Alchemist."

"I don't want to fight." Mustang said. Other soldiers filed behind him, guns drawn but not pointed to fire.

Bounty clicked his tongue behind his immobile black fangs. For whatever reason the General was hesitating. His eyes focused on Cyrus who shuttered under the human's gaze. Bounty spotted a smaller window to exploit to his right and then ran for it. "Want to chicken out that's fine by me fire guy!"

"Greed?"

Bounty stumbled, almost falling before catching himself mid trip. He turned in search of the voice who spoke. A young man, blond hair and golden eyes. He recognized him, but couldn't place his name. Bounty backed away as the man approached.

"Edward…" Cyrus said. The name stuck in Bounty's head like a splinter. Bounty noted the turn in the group. They looked at him as if they all knew him, as if he was a friend.

Bounty forced himself back into reality and leapt through the window. Glass shattered onto the ground as he took the impact so not to hurt Cyrus. He sprinted out of the light from the building and into the darkness of the night. He jumped over the barbed wire fence and cleared the moat.

Bounty let his shield fall completely when they were on the outskirts of Central. "Hey, you still with me?" he called back to Cyrus when he noticed him losing his grip around his neck.

Cyrus was slipping from Bounty's shoulders. He had no energy left, not even to keep his eyes open. "Come on, stay awake, we should be there in under an hour." Bounty promised. They dashed passed the farm land surrounding the city and ran into the pitch black woods. Cyrus wasn't able to answer, losing track of time and drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Bounty?" Cyrus could have sworn the voice belonged to Trovius. He thought he was hallucinating the old alchemist's worried voice.

"Just me," Bounty confirmed. "I have Cyrus."

Cyrus opened his eyes to see the shadowed caravan. Only a few lanterns hung from the hands of concerned gypsies. He blinked, expecting the familiar faces to vanish. When he opened them again Trovius, Rodger and Shelta, who were at his side, helped him down from Bounty's back. He still couldn't walk, but the pain in his back meant nothing compared to his relief at seeing his family. They were asking him about a thousand desperate questions at once but he couldn't focus on any one thing they said.

"They did something to him," Bounty answered for him as they helped him into Shelta's wagon. "He said they blocked his power." Trovius and Rodger looked shocked. Cyrus was placed down onto the soft bed, avoiding lying on his back.

"Let me see, Cyrus," Trovius told him, moving his tangled hair out of the way and wincing at the seals. Cyrus flinched when he felt one of the alchemist's hands brush against it. They pulled away when seeing his reaction.

"I'm sorry," Cyrus slurred, though no one understood why he was apologizing. "You shouldn't have waited for me, we need to move. They're going to be looking for me and find you…" he tried to explain, trying to sit up.

"Of course we wouldn't have left you Cyrus," Trovius insisted. Shelta brushed away some of Cyrus' hair from his face. He almost melted into the touch, taking in the familiar smells and brightly painted colors of home. He was hoping it all wasn't a drug induced dream. "Don't worry my dear boy; we'll get these out of your back. You'll feel fine in no time." He promised, giving Cyrus a reassuring smile.

Rodger was ruffling through his bag, grabbing his tools and a piece of paper to draw out an array. "The extraction of the seals won't take long but will be painful if your awake son. I'll put you under with an array that will manipulate your brain waves into sleep. I promise you won't feel a thing." The older alchemist insisted. He placed the paper on the small table by the bed and started to sketch out the complex array.

Cyrus tried to huff a hollow laugh. "That will be a nice change…they went in without an array after all." The comment earned a horrified silence from the group. Bounty rubbed at one if his own nodes tensely.

Shelta's voice was soft when she asked, "Honey, what did they do to you?"

At first Cyrus laughed, glancing around at their concerned faces. "I-It's not important. We need to go. It's not-i-it's, not…" What he was about to say started to fade. He still tried to laugh it off to set everybody's minds at ease despite him starting to hyperventilate. Shelta was embracing him, trying to remind him to breathe.

Cyrus wasn't sure when his forced laughter had turned into panicked sobs. He tried to get himself under control. He was having a nervous breakdown in front of Bounty and his whole family but he couldn't stop the tears. Watching them all comforting him and realizing he deserved none of their love. He started to apologize to them over and over, unable to stop when he started.

Shelta shushed him, "Dear, what are you sorry for?"

He was scared to tell them but he didn't hesitate. Through his wails he starting to blurt out everything he had learned. "It was me, I was one of them, it was me…" he coughed, trying to make sense of the past few days and the pain in his body and heart. "I was one of the homunculi that tried to kill everyone in the country. I'm a monster…I almost killed you, I'm sorry I'm so sorry." He closed his eyes and waited for the onslaught of anger from them. It was well deserved. Every single one of them, aside from Bounty, were almost killed, their souls trapped in anguish. No one was yelling at him, and he still felt Shelta's motherly embrace.

It was Trovius who spoke first. "I'm sorry Cyrus…but I knew." He admitted.

Cyrus opened his eyes to stare at him in shock, reading the man's face to see not anger or disgust, but guilt. "W-what?" Cyrus whispered, not understanding how this could be.

"I have known since Ishvael, but I didn't know how to tell you. I couldn't decide if you should even know," He explained further.

"As did I," Rodger intoned. "Trovius came to me with a possible lead about your past, and I was able to confirm it. We have both been debating how we were going to tell you or whether you were better off not knowing."

Cyrus' stunned face was enough for Trovius to continue. "The man you almost fought in the Ishvaelan town, he knew you from before this life. After your encounter I approached him, and he explained everything to me." Trovius said, going back over everything the man with the X shaped scar on his face had told him weeks before. Cyrus recalled the man he had almost fought. He had known him while he was Envy. He was a renegade wild card named Scar his "Father" could never quite fit into his plans.

Trovius sat down by Cyrus, and told him everything he knew.

* * *

The cold Ishvaelan man pursed his tan lips as he watched the Homunculus walk away with the two other humans. He debated following him, but an older voice intoned from behind.

"You know that boy don't you?" Trovius inquired of the man. He turned, and then studied the alchemist with sharp red eyes. Trovius had wanted to catch up to Cyrus and the others but then witnessed the tension of the almost fight. He approached after Cyrus and the others had gone. "That encounter was far too personal for you not to."

"He shouldn't be alive." the man told Trovius in a gruff voice. "Did you revive him?"

"No, I am the alchemist who is watching over him. He has lost his memories and I am working to get them back. You know him though. I would appreciate if you could share anything that can help me help him." he explained.

The man hesitated, studying Trovius for a moment before sighing, "Come with me." it was more of an order, but Trovius cautiously complied.

The scar faced man led the alchemist through the town, people still busy with rebuilding. They arrived at a humble stone house that was scarcely furnished. The two of them sat down at a table by the window. "I knew him," the man admitted, skipping any form of formalities. "He was a monster, one of the homunculi serving under the even greater beast that once lived under Central. His name was Envy if I remember. He could shape shift, which I'll assume he still can?" He paused, continuing when Trovius nodded. "He was the homunculus that ravaged my country with his trickery. I fought him, and I witnessed his death. I couldn't imagine why anyone would bring him back. It can't be for anything good."

Trovius was about to protest, but the man continued. "But, his eyes have changed, and I didn't see that monster from before, hence why I didn't attack. You say he has lost his memories? Good, you should keep it that way. If you are his care taker you should do everything in your power to keep him ignorant to his past. If not you risk the monster returning with those memories. As long as he remains as he is I do not intent to destroy him. But if he returns to how he was, I will have to kill him." He warned.

Trovius stiffened at the threat, but maintained his level voice. "Thank you for your time." He then stood to leave.

"You have done a good job so far it would seem," The man added. Trovius turned to observe the man's stone face. "He's changed, and I doubt it was by his own power. The darkness in his eyes has gone completely. I hope he can live well in this world, quietly."

Trovius nodded. He left the man with answers after so many years of searching.

* * *

"With a name," Rodger continued, pulling everyone's attention from Trovius onto him. "I was able to use my connections and found a file…and it was the missing link. All that was left was determining why those in Creta would revive you…and how to tell you. I'm afraid we were rather unable to determine either quandary. This is why we were planning a hasty exodus from Amestris. We feared someone would recognize you…We should have acted quicker."

"I'm so sorry, Cyrus," Trovius insisted, kneeling down to be eye level with the shocked teen. "You never should have found out this way…can you forgive me?"

Cyrus didn't know what to say. Now that he knew what he was he didn't blame Trovius for not telling him. He wished he didn't know now. What was confusing him most was why Trovius was apologizing to him. He was the one that had almost killed them and yet this wasn't what they were talking about.

"Um, what about me?" Bounty intoned. Cyrus jumped as he had forgotten his brother was still standing awkwardly by the door. "Am I involved with the old Homunculi regime?" he asked.

"Would you like to know?" Trovius asked.

Bounty's face turned grim at the man's answer. "So you do know…Eh…I-I'll think about it."

"Scar said he can come back," Cyrus panicked, looking between the two alchemists in horror. "Did he mean…there's a chance me getting my memories back will bring back Envy?!" Dizziness threatened to make him gag.

Trovius held up his hands to dispute this. "I doubt this, Cyrus. You have had your memories back now for a while and are still yourself." He insisted.

Roger nodded in agreement. "They are echoed memories, son. You are in control of them, not the other way around." Rodger said confidently.

Cyrus didn't seem convinced, holding his head with both hands and starting to panic. "No…Envy's stronger than me! He has one hundred and seventy five years on me; I only have two…what if he takes over? ...Oh God, what if I hurt one of you? You can't take me with you! I don't want to hurt you!" he cried.

Shelta shushed him, taking his face in her hands. "This will not happen. I don't know alchemy or this other being called Envy but I do know you Cyrus. You are stronger then him, and this is your life. We are not leaving you. We will escape together. We will go to Aerugo, where my family is waiting. There we will leave this country, the past, and any memory of this being behind us." She told him.

He didn't protest, his terrified and exhausted mind wanting for it to be true. Rodger laid him face down, his head laying on the array. Blue light surrounded him. He hoped when he woke up everything he learned, the nightmarish military base, and the homunculus Envy, would all have been a horrible dream.

Darkness engulfed him all at once, and he gratefully surrendered to it.


	31. Chapter 31

Hello after a long month! Sorry for the delay, I have been preparing for the National Writing Month this November and I hope everyone can join in! Because of this I will attempt to publish one more chapter of this story before October ends, but I am not sure if I will be able to swing it. If not, I will pick right back up in December! Please enjoy, comment, and happy writing!

* * *

Despite the arguing in his office, Mustang's focus was on Cyrus' violin case. It had only been an hour since the once believed dead homunculus Greed broke Cyrus free. The military's attempts to find them had come up empty, and the dark hour didn't help the search.

Voices fought to outshout the others. The topics ranged from Creta spies and invasions. Most of all, they debated the loyalties of the homunculi they couldn't find.

Olivier stomped loud on the floor to get the room's attention. "Enough of this pointless debate! It doesn't matter if Greed was an ally on the Promised Day. Envy was an enemy, and Greed helped him. We can assume the third homunculus is also their ally. We need to move all three of them to Briggs before the Cretan spies make their move."

"So they can be used as weapons?" Edward hissed.

Alphonse, of course, backed his brother. "The homunculi don't have their original personalities or loyalties to Father. Emperor Ling will be here, and he can help sense them. We need to win them over, not capture them."

Olivier scoffed, "That is a charming but childish understanding of the danger we are in. Inside these creatures is a type of Philosopher's Stone we do not understand. All we know is how much the enemy wants them. There is no time to make friends of these creatures that already perceive us as hostile. We know they are connected to those Aerugonian gypsies that left Central a few days ago. Their trail will be easy enough to track without the help of the Xingese Emperor. Our vehicles will catch up in no time."

Edward turned on Mustang. "Mustang! Get your head out of your ass and say something!"

Olivier crossed her arms. "Yes General, do chime in. You were the one who captured the Shape-shifting homunculus. How should we proceed recapturing it?"

Mustang felt every pair of eyes on him. He was stiff in his chair. On one side of his desk the picture of Maes watched him. On the other side of the desk the smiling faces of the gypsies surrounded Cyrus in their crumpled photo. He recognized he had to say something. "Where is the gypsy caravan headed, Fury?" Mustang asked, dodging the original question.

Fury adjusted his glasses, scanning the regional map on his small desk. "The tracks lead south. We can assume their destination is the boarder of Aerugo."

Mustang leaned into his seat. If Cyrus and Greed slipped beyond the Aerugonian boarder there would be no retrieving them.

Olivier snorted. "Well if Mustang won't do anything then I will. I can go to Führer Grumman and override your command over this project. We can't let two powerful Philosopher's Stones slip out of our country. Creta's government isn't tense with Aerugo like we are. They will be able to follow while we are left in the dust. Creta's political regime has been crumbling for the past ten years now, and we can assume they are desperate. If they want those Stones, we need to assure they don't get them." Olivier stormed out, two of her Briggs soldiers in tow.

"I can try to talk to her…" Armstrong offered.

"Don't bother, I've made my decision." Mustang said. He closed the violin case with the picture inside and stood.

"Let Ed and me talk to Cyrus and Greed first." Alphonse begged.

"They won't trust the military." Edward reminded him with a snort. "We can try to convince them to stay. We can have them travel to Ishval. The farther from Creta the better."

With a sigh Mustang shook his head. "You boys don't get it. This could be the beginning of a war. We need to keep the two known Stone's under our watch at all times. We can't do that with them traveling all over…" Mustang was glancing at Maes' photo when he spoke. Because of this he saw the plume of fire reflected off the glass of the photo frame.

He spun around towards the window, seeing the flaming hole in laboratory 3's eastern wall light up the night.

* * *

Darbus rolled inside the laboratory after blowing a hole in its side. Scientists were gaping at him. Guards down the hall fought through the smoke towards his location. He shifted the alchemic bangles on his wrists to match a different tattoo pattern on his arms. With a knife from his belt he smashed a tanker of water, and a transmutation turned the liquid into a steam cover.

He knew the Cretan spies had sent the message about the flask doll as a trap. They wanted him out of the way like his poor sister Lyda. He still didn't know her fate. That was the reason he was storming the Amestrian base alone before waiting for back up. The Amestrian dogs didn't know what they had found. Unlike the Cretans, Darbus knew how to use the Stone inside the Flask Doll, and he would escape with the Gem.

Down the hall and past the blind guards in the mist Darbus turned a corner into a stairwell. He hid behind the ajar door, waiting for the hurried boots to pass. Then light foot fall passed the threshold. Darbus grabbed the short scientist before they saw him, gagging them with his hand. Back in his hiding spot and a knife the the terrified Amestrian's throat Darbus whispered. "Where is the Flask Doll being held?"

The Amestrian man trembled. He struggled to find his voice even when Darbus removed his hand from his mouth. "A-A Flask w-what?"

"Homunculus!" Darbus hissed, pressing the knife to his skin harder in frustration. "The Homunculus your military found. Where?!"

The man yelped. "I-I-It escaped, with another of its kind…"

Darbus stared at him dumbfounded. His blood chilled, and then a rush of white hot rage washed through him. He tossed the the man to the side. "Damn Amestrian idiots! You can't even watch over a doll?!"

Yelling down the hall brought Darbus back from his rage. Someone was telling a General about Darbus' last known location near the stairwell. He heard the name Mustang behind the title, and he grimaced. The Flame Alchemist. The last thing Darbus needed was to get into an alchemy fight with a senior State Alchemist.

He jumped over the man cowering on the floor and took the stairs two at a time as he climbed upward. The roof was his best bet. He could transmute a glider and avoid most of the gun fire. First he needed some sort of hint on where the Flask Doll had gone. That information would still be in the building. Once at the top floor he busted through the locked door. More hallways awaited him, but less people to sneak by. He transmuted the door shut behind him and ran on.

"Is the intruder with Creta? Are they here for the Homunculus, Dr. Marcoh?" The sentence stopped Darbus in his tracks. He glanced around the corner. He saw an elderly man and a twenty something woman with rounded glasses.

"Stop where you are!" the male voice behind Darbus ordered. He turned, seeing the Flame Alchemist himself with a mob of soldiers behind him. Darbus tensed, then bolted around the corner. The elderly man was in a doorway, but the woman could be exploited as a shield. He held the knife to her throat with her in the way of the approaching soldiers. The Flame Alchemist hesitated to unleash his alchemy, and no bullets flew by him.

"Emala!" The man named Marcoh said from the door. Darbus brandished the knife, warning him away.

"You know about the White Stoned homunculus?" Darbus asked the girl in his arms. "Tell me what you know and I won't hurt you."

"What do you want?" General Mustang demanded of him.

Darbus glared passed Emala at the man. "I want my people's treasure! You fools had it and let it go!" He backed around another corner with Emala, the soldiers following him. He felt the wall at his back. Using the girl to shield what he was doing he twisted his free arm's alchemic bangle with his teeth. He slammed the wall with the array and he and Emala fell through the hole he had made.

They weren't in free fall for long. Darbus touched the wall and with blue light made it curve to the ground. When his feet hit the ground he drug the woman out of sight of the building. In the cover of an alley Darbus didn't let go of Emala, though did sheath his blade in his belt. "Where was the Homunculus going, how did you know of it?" He demanded.

Emala was pale, shaking her head as if not comprehending his two part question. This annoyed Darbus. "I don't know where they were going. I was on the team who examined the white Stone…I don't know anything else." She insisted.

Barking dogs and roaring vehicles made Darbus look to the alley way entrance. Emala spoke as he scanned the area. "How did you even know the Homunculus was in the laboratory?"

"A Cretan spy sent me a message," Darbus said. He scanned the road from the shadows, trying to throw together a plan of escape. If he could get out of the city unseen, he would be able to sense the presence of the Stones. There were two of the homunculi, so the pulse would be stronger and easier to notice. "It was meant to be a trap to draw me into getting captured. The Cretan's underestimate me though." Darbus added.

"For good reason. But I am glad you came after my message."

"What-" Darbus couldn't finish his confused statement before the burning pain in his torso overtook all thought. Emala had a smirk in place of any fear she once portrayed. He broke her gaze to see she had stabbed his own knife into his lower stomach. The warmth of his blood made his mind and sight dim. He exhaled, the air burning, when she yanked the weapon out. He slammed into the alley wall.

Darbus held his wound with trembling hands. He glanced up past the dancing spots in his vision to see Emala observing his blade with a casual air. His teeth clenched. Too late, he recognized the slight Cretan drawl hidden in her Aerugonian accent. "Damn you…Cretan dog." He hissed.

"Such biting words. Say whatever you want, either way you are out of our way." Emala said with a smile thrown his way. She kneeled to remain eye level with him when he slid down the wall to the ground. "I was lucky enough to be among those who cut open your people's Flask Doll and saw the gem for myself. I have to say, it was exquisite. I will make sure the Gems restore our country to the shining land it was always meant to be, ruled by the Cretan tribe. Your grandfather should have used the power to do more than cower." She mocked, pulling back to jab the blade into his chest.

Steel cut through the air. Emala jumped when small knives struck into the ground in a circle around her. "Alchehistry?" she was able to gasp before the circle blasted her backwards in a haze of blue light. Darbus fought the encroaching darkness. Through the haze three forms jumped down from the top of the looming buildings.

"Nice shot, May." The man among the group praised the shortest of the three.

The knife thrower whipped her long braided hair proudly. "She was standing still, it was hardly a challenge." May said.

Emala struggled to get to her feet, scrambling for a piece of chalk from her lab coat. "The Xingese Emperor? What the hell are you doing here?" She gasped, about to draw a transmutation on the ground.

The emperor gave Emala a glance as her circle took shape. "Um, Lan Fan could you-" His order went unfinished. The third woman among the three vanished from the emperor's side. She reappeared to bash her metal arm into Emala's face. Emala tumbled across the ally into an unconscious heap.

Despite Emala no longer able to listen, the Emperor answered her previous question. "Why I'm here? Hopefully, I'm fulfilling a promise to an old friend."

Darbus blinked hard, knowing he couldn't stay awake for long. Flashing lights, screeching cars. He saw Amestrian military men approach. The Xingese man gave the soldiers a excited smile and a wave. "Yo Roy! These were who you were looking for right?"

Darbus lost the fight and blackness took over.

* * *

Mustang took a seat in front of the hospital bed the Arbus man was handcuffed to. He had been unconscious for an hour, sleeping through the stitching of his side. He was finally starting to wake up. The spy, once known as Emala, had said nothing since her capture.

Fury was able to identify the man on the hospital bed through Cretan felony records. This was Darbus of the Arbus people. He was one of the last leaders among them. The message sent out by Emala was for him. He was desperate enough to take the bait.

Darbus' eyes fluttered. Then they shot open, alertness hitting him like a bullet.

"Welcome back." Mustang said. His voice was cold.

Darbus went to sit up but the handcuffs pulled him back. He looked at his wrists. His alchemic bangles were gone, leaving only the incomplete tattoos marking his skin. He thrashed in his restraints, glaring and snarling at Mustang like a wild animal. Unlike Cyrus, this man had no fear of his captors, only rage.

Mustang let him kick himself out; crossing his arms in silence until Darbus was still. "You done?" He asked.

Darbus sit up as much as he could manage to spit in Mustang's direction. He missed. "You Amestrian Dogs! You lost my people's treasure! All you had to do was keep it from walking out! You don't know how to keep a doll locked in a room?"

"What treasure? The White Stone inside the homunculus you revived?" Mustang asked.

"My sister brought back the dolls. Lyda! She may be dead, trying to save the White Gems, my people's last fighting chance against Creta!" Darbus corrected.

Mustang crossed his arms. "Why did your sister bring back the homunculi? We have determined they are needed for the Stone's to work. But why use these Homunculi specifically?"

"Why are you so damn focused on the dolls? It doesn't matter what dolls they are. The Stones are the treasure. They are my grandfather's flask dolls…aren't they?" Darbus took a break from red faced rage to look puzzled.

Mustang allowed himself a relived sigh. Edward had been right about Father's homunculi. They were used by the Arbus people not to continue Father's plot. They were the only ones in the Portal available to use. "Tell me what you would have done if you succeeded." Mustang asked, not answering his question. "Say you got your Flask Doll. I assume you know how to use the White Stone's power? Otherwise you wouldn't have attacked the military base with no exit strategy."

Darbus smiled. "I wouldn't be chained to this bed that is for sure. I would be one step closer to saving my people, and my sister…If she is even still around to save."

The Door opened. Emperor Ling's smiling face peeked in. "How's our Cretan house guest?" He asked.

Darbus slammed his chained arms down, his expression beyond offended. "I am NOT Cretan!"

Mustang ignored him and turned to Ling. Don't bother asking about Greed. He doesn't know about our homunculi. He thought they were his Grandfathers creations."

Damnit." Ling sighed, leaning his head into the doorframe.

Darbus looked between them. "Wait…are you saying the Flask Dolls my sister used as vessels were the same ones that almost kill you all three years ago? Is that why the Dolls walk around freely? Gha! You Amestrians can't even make Homunculi dolls right!"

Mustang rolled his eyes and left Darbus' side, joining Ling in the doorway. "Thanks again for your help. I hate to ask again, but you can sense the homunculi, and we know which direction they went."

Ling smiled wide. "Of course! I can't believe Greed is alive…I'll talk to the old guy, win him over."

"We can trail you, May, and Lan Fan. It's best if military vehicles are kept at a distance. If the caravan happens to travel over the Aerugonian boarder you three can follow on foot-"

"They are going to Aerugo?" Darbus gasped. Both men looked at him. It was the first time he looked scared.

"We assume." Mustang answered. "We won't be able to pursue them beyond the boarder."

"More than that!" Darbus yelled, fighting his restraints again. "Creta and Aerugo are close allies. They have kept that from you Amestrian dogs just in case you attacked along the boarders again! You can bet the Cretan government has let Aerugo in on what is going on with the White Gems! My people's treasure, your homunculi, are running right into a trap!"


End file.
